


I’ll Take Your Money and Your Power but Destroy Your Way

by sunnyjolras, vivalamusaine



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Castles, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fantasy, Fluff and Angst, Forced Marriage, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other, Revolution
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-07-15 05:45:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 53,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7210394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunnyjolras/pseuds/sunnyjolras, https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivalamusaine/pseuds/vivalamusaine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"There was unrest and anxiousness among the servants in the main quarters. Their conversation hovered slightly above a hum as they waited for more information.</p><p>Tonight the King was choosing who he was to marry, was what Courfeyrac had said, and none of them knew who he was so taken with."</p><p>When the King chooses one of his servants to be his new spouse a revolution rises in the castle walls. ExR Fantasy AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Struck So Effervescently

**Author's Note:**

> Collaboration between Caitlin and I based off a fantasy prompt she came up with! 
> 
> Based off this ficlet I wrote here: http://vivalamusaine.tumblr.com/post/145750730657/fantasy-au-where-all-the-amis-are-servants-and

“Your highness, if you would merely consider our point of view.”

 

“Enough, boy, who do you think you are to question our authority on these matters?” One of the Kings High Councilmen replied, obviously annoyed by the amount of time the matter at hand was taking.

 

A pause. Sitting upon a throne, which stood on a pedestal that looked down to the court, was the King. His side was flanked by two guardsmen, their stoic faces not giving a hint to how gloved hands gripped swords tighter at the sign of conflict. The King’s high council sat behind him, Enjolras’ own Lord staring down at him unimpressed. It was out of hearing hours, all of the servants were on their break, and yet-

 

“I am Enjolras, Your Highness.” Making a curt nod, no more than a twitch of his head and shoulders downwards he directed his attentions to the King instead of the councilman which spoke. He stood below them on the polished marble tiles, dressed in his simple serving clothes; a flowing white shirt and black trousers, in comparison to the King’s regal attire, he looked thoroughly underwhelming. The dark blue doublet and golden crown encased with jewels mocked Enjolras as he stared up upon them. “I attend to Sir Bourgaillard daily.” He nodded in the direction of his Lord, seeing him scoff and turn away, muttering something into the ear of the Lord beside him.

 

“Yes, yes, I am aware.” The King chuckled, and Enjolras couldn’t help but cringe ever so slightly.

 

For a moment Enjolras was a tad thrown from his speech. He was often in the King’s company to serve his Lord, and had frequently appeared before the court to tell them his ideas for improving morale amongst the servants, but he had always assumed he’d remained as unnoticed as the rest of the company. 

 

Another pause, as Enjolras caught his courage and looked expectantly back up to the King, finding that the man's eyes had never left him.There was something odd behind them that Enjolras couldn’t place, it was as though he had captured his attentions for more reason than the meeting he’d requested. 

 

The King cleared his throat, and spoke up again. “Yes, you see my memory is not as bad as you must think. You serve your Master well and come to my court more often than not. One would think that having me hear your complaints is your actual duty as opposed to serving Sir Bourgaillard.” Enjolras waited for the King to continue, but instead he just smiled at him. As though it was almost considered a joke and not a subtle jab at the time he so clearly thought that Enjolras was wasting. 

 

Enjolras sighed. Now he knew why his presence was felt. Many of the Lords noticed him in this way. His sarcastic remarks at hearings usually bared a row between him and his Lord, but he could never bring himself to stop. He would never let the opportunity of letting them hear his complaints pass by. He knew that he was in no real danger of too harsh a punishment however. For he knew how most of the councilmen would look at him, and he often took full advantage of their weaknesses to his allure. The servant’s beauty was coveted by many of the King’s councillors, and he would commonly hear many remarks whenever they thought he was out of earshot. 

 

Despite being disgusted by them he knew that  at the end of the day his visionary appearance was more of a blessing than a curse, and that it had let him get away with much more then others were accustomed to being excused for.

 

Enjolras opened his mouth to speak, but the King interrupted him once more. “Such impertinence remains in my memory,  _ Enjolras _ . Not many would come here so often to question the council’s authority. Or to question my own. One would think you have... ulterior motives. What plagues you so that you must constantly campaign yourself to us?” A bejewelled hand swept across the throne’s armrest as the king smiled challengingly down upon him, obviously waiting for Enjolras’ reaction. It was as if he was wanting for a game of cat and mouse.

 

Enjolras could feel the fire inside him spark and blaze, an all too familiar passion overtaking him.

 

“Of course, I do not wish to seem impertinent, your highness, but these matters must be spoken about if they have any hope of being resolved. Your have at least a hundred servants, who cook the most extravagant meals for you, who clean every marble floor and every treasure you own, and who look after not only yourself but your council members and their spouses, to name but a few! What liberties and rights do these servants receive? None, but the threw scraps you have granted upon us so far! Your councilmen cannot see the injustices that plague these very castle walls past the indulgences they invest in, and leave their servants wishing and hoping for better pay to support their families and a higher standard of living than they receive.

 

“Your highness, you have listened to me in the past and your council have allowed us small mercies. They gave us the beds when sleeping on the floor ruined our backs for the day's work, they gave us breaks in the day when we were collapsing from exhaustion. Now I come to you telling you more of the problems we face, and you tell me I am only questioning your authority? I am only questioning your priorities, how you parade food of such luxury that we prepare for you and only ever eat the scraps of it. All I am calling for are a raise in our rations.”

 

The King was quiet for a while, his heavily jeweled hand stroking at his chin, he seemed to be considering Enjolras’ seriously. His eyes never wandered from Enjolras’ form.

 

“Without fair rations the people get tired and angry.” Enjolras continued, his voice slowing with deliberation. Knowing that he now had the King’s full attention he intended to play his final hand. “We spend every working day serving you and your nobility and the people are becoming angry that all they receive are a few measly silver pieces and the leftover scraps from your meals. They are angry they are not provided with more than basics and necessities. Do you know what happens when people get angry, your highness? They tend to become… Revolting.”

 

The effect was instantaneous; the King’s councilmen rose in anger.

 

“How dare you!” 

 

“You mean to imply the people will revolt? That’s ludicrous. The people love the King!”

 

“We could have your head for that! To speak of revolution in this Kingdom is punishable by death.”

 

Enjolras’ determined gaze did not leave the royal’s face as his men were chastising him, instead he stood tall and proud, a challenging fierceness in his eyes. The King was looking at Enjolras in a strange way, his eyes seemed to be searching for something beyond the determination in his expression. Finally, he moved his hand from his chin and raised it to the court, instantly silencing his councilmen.

 

“I shall consider your request.” The King replied, giving Enjolras another slight smile. 

 

His councilmen seemed to be struck by shock.

 

“But your highness, surely such insubordination should not be rewarded-”

 

“It is not your place to say whether or not I should reward or punish him, Garandel.” The King replied in a warning tone, shutting down his advisor instantly. He turned his attention back towards Enjolras, giving him an oddly soft expression. Enjolras did not know how to make of it. “You may go.” He said, gesturing casually to the door.

 

Enjolras gave the King a stiff nod, the lowest acknowledgment that he could get away with without being forced to bow or kneel. He refused to acquiesce to the concept of the monarchy before him, he could not bow and let the King and his councilmen assume he accepted they were above him. It was perhaps a petty and slight difference, but if all Enjolras had to hold onto was this one small action of defiance, then he would do so for the rest of his days.

 

As he began to make his way towards the large oak doors and out into the main marbled hall he heard a snide comment not meant for his ears pass between two Lords on the far side of the large court.

 

“Do not go too far though, boy. Lest you wish to meet the same fate as your traitorous parents.”

 

Enjolras spun around on his heel, at the mention of his parents he felt a fire burn inside him  He knew logically that he should drop the matter, that he should turn around and keep walking, that his next words could mean an endless list of punishments. The anger and the pain was rushing through him like a hurricane refused to let him do as such and his words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

 

“Haven’t you punished me enough for their actions?” Enjolras spat, stepping a few steps forwards instinctively. “I am unable to leave the walls that guard this castle. I am nothing but a prisoner or a bird in a cage. You forced me into servitude when they were caught and executed, and you refuse to let me leave because you fear it’s in my blood to continue their work. This council's treatment of the village-” Enjolras bit his lip, and froze under the defiant glares of the council men. He wished he could have continued, and talked about how the council’s corruption greatly impacted the lives of the servants and commoners in the villages, and that he would never be allowed to lend an ear and let their voices be heard. He knew that saying such was playing right into their hand however and Enjolras fought hard to contain his rage at his situation. He took a cautious step back staring up at the King who was looking down at him not in anger but in wonder, and stared him dead in the eye, anger brimming at the surface.

 

“My apologies, I did not wish to be so blunt in my complaints,  _ your majesty. _ ” He took a deep breath, and made himself lose the bite in his voice. Enjolras forced himself to calm down before continuing “I’m sure that we-  _ your  _ people do indeed love you,” in the silkiest tone that he could muster. 

 

Turning once more he stepped quickly towards the doors, waiting for a guard to grab his wrist or a Lord to call him back, but nobody made to stop him.

 

He knew that this time he had pressed too far, that the Lord he attended to would surely accuse him of embarrassing his reputation and that next time he asked to meet with the King he would certainly be denied. To demand from his Lord such a private audience had taken work and effort, he had tirelessly worked for over two years until they had finally allowed him to speak to king after hearing hours. He was able to be the voice of the servants, of the squires and of the people who served the king in the castle. His heart sunk suddenly when he realised that they often depended on him to be the sole speaker for their requests, as his eloquence and elegance in such matters was unmatched and he never cowered before the King. He felt guilt creep over him at the realisation that he would no longer be able to stand up for them. 

 

He wanted desperately to lean against the palace walls and crumble there, but he knew that there were eyes still watching him, eyes that were loyal to the King. Even in his hour of weakness he could not allow the council to know how much they had affected him. He continued onwards with his head held high.

 

His heavy feet led him down the numerous flights of stairs and through the empty hallways, back to the small and drafty chamber that he shared with Grantaire. The few servants who could not afford to keep a place in the village used to have even more cramped and cold spaces. Enjolras remembered a time where there used to be shared living quarters between six or seven of them at one point. He had begged and fought and pleaded and at one point close to demanded that something should be done. Until finally it was agreed upon to give the few servants abiding in the castle individual quarters, rooms where they could at least have brief moments of privacy and peace.  

 

He shut the door behind him leaning his head against the rough wood and took in a few steadying breaths. 

 

“I take it your meeting did not go the way you intended it.” A soft voice behind him said.

 

Enjolras had been so lost within himself that he hadn’t noticed Grantaire had been sitting on the bed waiting for him as he walked in the room. He leaned his head slightly away from the door and gave him a sad smile.

 

“Aren’t you supposed to be on duty in the kitchens?” He asked him trying to steer the subject far away from his own failure.

 

“I asked Bossuet to cover for me for the hour.” Grantaire replied, he lifted himself off the straw bed and walked the small distance over to Enjolras. “I thought it might be pleasant to see a friendly face after fraternising with the enemy.”

 

Wrapping his arms around Enjolras’ waist from behind, Grantaire leaned his head into the crook of his neck, placing a small kiss onto his skin, which Enjolras gladly leaned into.

 

“Thank you.” Enjolras replied quietly. “But if the Kitchen Master catches you-”

 

“He’s more of a drunkard than I. Musichetta had him supplied with plenty of wine with his evening meal. By this point he should be daydreaming of green meadows and luscious ladies… Or lads. I’ve never asked his fancy.”

 

Enjolras leaned his head back and met their lips in a sweet enveloping touch, which produced a delicate noise from Grantaire as he brushed their mouths together. Crooking his finger beneath Grantaire’s chin he pulled his face downwards slightly to better position their embrace. Grantaire let out a soft and satisfied sound. They stayed locked against each other, providing a small comfort to the harsh day that was not yet over. 

 

“I may have said too much this time.” He admitted once they separated.

 

“Don’t you always?”

 

“Today was different…” Enjolras said. He was quiet for a very long time waiting for Grantaire to say something, when he didn’t he continued. “They mentioned my parents.”

 

“Oh.” Grantaire said knowingly. He furrowed his brow. “That’s… What did you say?”

 

“I basically destructed any chance I may have had of ever meeting with the King again.” Enjolras said morosely. “Let us just leave it at that. I spoke too harshly for the courts ears, and I doubt my Lord will ever let me speak in the King’s presence from now until forever. I have failed.”

 

“You did not fail,  _ mon ange _ .” Grantaire said fiercely, stroking a hand through Enjolras’ locks. “You have done more for us than I- than any of us have done for ourselves. You could never fail us. If this is the last day you’re permitted to speak to the King, so be it, count it as the blessing it is. He is a coward and a spineless puppet. As unpleasant as the rats that litter the dungeons and as horrid as their leavings.”

 

“I agree, you know that, but do not speak those words aloud. People have been killed for saying much less.” Enjolras said seriously, holding him a little tighter.

 

“And who are you going to tell?” Grantaire teased, he held Enjolras out at arm's length, and leaned in slightly to look him in the eyes. “The King will not meet with the likes of you, remember?”

 

This produced a small laugh from Enjolras as he touched his head against Grantaire’s. 

 

“I could always mention it to another servant in my Lord’s hearing range. Courfeyrac would love the gossip.” Enjolras teased in return, relaxing into Grantaire again. He nuzzled his head against his chest, easing himself with the rhythm of his lover’s heartbeat. 

 

“Ah yes. Indeed. A traitor you have made of me.” Grantaire said laughing. “Although if I am a traitor, then what does that make you?”

 

Enjolras sighed against him, his mind warping back the scene that had played out in the King’s court; the comments, that chastising, the almost intent gaze the king provided him which unnerved him to his very core. “My parent’s son.” He said finally.

 

“And I would not have you any other way.” Grantaire cooed placing a soft peck against his cheek.

 

Enjolras reluctantly pushed Grantaire out of his grasp. “You should go relieve Bossuet of your duty. No doubt you chose the most conspicuous person you could to take your place. He’s more than likely started at least one fire in your absence.”

 

Grantaire gave a dramatic sigh and pretended to look downcast. “If you are that desperate to be rid of me then I shall spare you my company.”

 

“I am more concerned about whether or not your head will still be upon your shoulders by the end of dinner. Finish your duties, then you can be in my company all you wish.”

 

“If that’s a promise.” Grantaire grinned back at him. He gave Enjolras one last encouraging squeeze against his forearm and a small kiss goodbye before heading out towards the kitchens.

 

Enjolras watched as his lover left, smiling fondly until he he had disappeared into the darkness of the corridor.

 

* * *

 

“Bossuet, would you please tell me you haven’t destroyed the potatoes?”

 

The whole kitchen was furiously working to get dinner ready, preparing rich dishes that made their mouths water at the smell. Grantaire turned his longing gaze away from the joint of beef Musichetta was currently salting and roasting. He looked at Bossuet, who was holding up a knife and looking incredibly guilty.

 

“Uhm, no most of the potatoes are fine… a few or so may have a little blood on them. But that’s fine, I think.”

 

Grantaire put down the utensil he had just picked up, turning towards Bossuet. “You’ve cut yourself peeling potatoes?”

 

“Potentially…?”

 

There was a loud sigh, and Grantaire stood. “I knew I shouldn’t have gotten you to cover me. Go back to the stables,” he chuckled, nudging Bossuet along. “And go see your lover in the medical ward to get that looked at.”

 

Bossuet blushed at that and placed the utensils he was holding into Grantaire’s hands. “He is not my lover, my friend. He is spoken for.” At this he turned a slightly bashful expression towards Musichetta, catching her gaze she gave him a beaming smile before returning to her work.

 

Grantaire rolled his eyes, pushing the ruined potatoes aside and quickly working to peel more. 

 

“The way you all look at each other says differently.”

 

“You should drop that tired subject, Grantaire.” Bossuet sighed as he wiped his hands against his trousers. “It shall never happen.”

 

“Stranger things have.” Grantaire said smiling at him, he paused his peeling duties for a moment to give Bossuet a playful punch on the arm. “Do not forget that I owe you a favour.”

 

“Several favours.” Bossuet laughed. “Do not make me recall the time you asked me to hide your Masters supply of rum.”

 

Grantaire shushed him with a smile as Bossuet gave him a friendly wave goodbye, donning his stable cap and heading out the back doors.

 

He was grateful that Bossuet hadn’t completely ruined the feast, only three or four potatoes needed to be disposed of as they had tiny droplets of blood seeping into them. He brushed aside the brief temptation he had to throw them in the pot anyway and carried on peeling and chopping the clean potatoes, before moving onto the other vegetables. At the end of it all, it was not as much of a disaster as was usually expected.

 

A full hour had passed by when Grantaire felt warm arms wrap around his waist and a kiss pressed to his shoulder blade. He gently put down the knife and the carrot he was holding down, and laughed, calloused hands brushing the softer ones on his abdomen. “I never thought I’d see the day where Enjolras actively neglected his duties. How sad to see, what role model can we consider my love to be to the people when he’s lying to his own Lord as to where he is? What form of anarchy could he inspire through the skin of his teeth when he is a man who most likely said ‘I’ll be back in but a moment my Lord’ only to return half the hour later. Will the people come to rise with this liar of a man?”

 

“Shh…” He listened to the obvious voice of Enjolras chuckle. “You have utter faith in your assumptions, but they may be found incorrect. How do you know that I am this Enjolras you speak of?”

 

“Oh yes, I apologise, are you an imposter?”

 

Grantaire turned around and pressed a swift kiss to Enjolras’ lips and revelling in the blush that fell upon his cheeks. 

 

“No, you were fortunately right in your presumptions.”

 

Grantaire smiled once more. “Very fortunate indeed, but this does only serve to cause more questions to be asked. The starters have just been served, surely you should be attending to your Lord in the dining hall.”

 

“I am.” Enjolras said as he rolled his eyes fondly. “My Lord asked me to fetch some more wine, as the one that was served did not fancy his tastes. I thought that you would be familiar enough with the wine cupboard to show me where it was again.”

 

Grantaire tried to hide his smile and failed, taking Enjolras by the hand he led him over to one of the many wine cabinets in the kitchen.

 

“What course is he enjoying as we speak?” 

 

“I believe when I left him he was gorging himself on a large pile of mashed potatoes. Honestly he resembled more of a pig then an actual man.”

 

Grantaire laughed at that and pulled out a corked bottle of foreign red from the shelf. “This should go well with most anything.” He said gently. “Although, a part of me hopes I missed one of the ruined potatoes. Then your Master would be enjoying them a la Bossuet. The red would definitely go with them then.”

 

“You sent Bossuet to duty with a knife?” Enjolras asked in mock disbelief. “It’s a wonder nothing worse occurred.”

 

“The night is still young, my love.” Grantaire winked at him. “Do not underestimate Bossuet’s spell of bad luck.”

 

“Hopefully he sends none of it your way. Has he returned to the stables now?”

 

“Unless he fell into a well on his way over there.” Grantaire replied impatiently. “Have I ever told you that you worry too much?”

 

“Merely every day. Forgive me for being concerned with not only our friend’s well being, but for yours as well.” Enjolras said, smiling up at Grantaire. “I truly must be returning to my Lord’s side, I do not wish to make him more upset than before.” 

 

Grantaire frowned at this. “I hope he hasn’t punished you too harshly.”

 

Enjolras paused and looked down at the floor, before speaking. “I am to go without food tonight and on the morrow as well, but it is not an utterly harsh punishment. He hasn’t revoked me seeing the King, however, so I am still able to speak out against the problems we face. I can still be our spokesman. That’s something.” He smiled at Grantaire.

 

Enjolras expected Grantaire to be pleased at this but instead Grantaire’s frown only grew deeper. “That’s… Surprising. Why are they allowing you to still see the King?”

 

Enjolras shrugged, “I suppose he is not as unreasonable as we originally thought… He did say he would consider my proposals. Even after my outburst today he seems to be taking my suggestions somewhat seriously.”

 

Enjolras made to leave, wine bottle firmly in his hands, but Grantaire took hold of his wrist. “Wait.” He said, quickly grabbing one of the pastries that had been cooling by the windowsill. Before Enjolras could object he placed it delicately into his mouth.

 

“If you go without food you shall complain all night long. I will not have that in my bed.” He smiled.

 

Enjolras grinned, quickly finishing the pastry before any servant who wouldn’t have allowed it would notice. He relished the sweet taste of the dessert, and then leaned up to peck Grantaire’s lips. “Thank you, my love. I will be off duty after my Lord retires after dinner today, so I will see you soon.”

 

Grantaire returned back to the carrots that he had been peeling and chopping. His fond smile turned quickly into a frown however as his mind began to unravel cynically different explanations for Enjolras’ strangely light punishment. He did not trust the King. He did not trust the council, he most certainly did not trust Enjolras’ Lord, and yet they had granted him a kindness despite his insubordination. It caused him a slight sickness in the pit of his stomach that he couldn’t quite explain.

  
  


At the end of the night the castle’s High Lords and Ladies were all sufficiently full of wine and food. It was but another night, and Enjolras retired to his chamber sore footed and emotionally drained. It was all worth it however to see Grantaire’s bare form sprawled across their straw bedding, tangled in the thin material that served as their blanket.

 

“Must you always take up so much room?” Enjolras asked trying to sound annoyed but coming off more smitten than ever.

 

“You took so long.” Grantaire moaned sleepily. “I took my liberties.”

 

“And I am here to take them back.” Enjolras said unclothing himself eagerly and crawling in beside Grantaire, stealing their blanket away from him.

 

“I knew this whole time you were secretly corrupted.” Grantaire grinned, wrapping himself around Enjolras and enclosing their fingers together. “You should share our bedding equally,  _ mon ange _ .”

 

Enjolras placed a kiss upon his forehead and obliged him. Spreading the harsh fabric between them and leaning into Grantaire as close as he could.

 

He was drifting off into a joyful slumber. He was still allowed to speak for the people, he had his lover beside him, already gone into a deep sleep and his punishment for his misconduct was thankfully light. At this moment, everything was as close to perfect as he could ever hope for himself.

 

Until that is, his gaze reached the small gap between the cobblestones that served as as their window and the stars were shining brightly down upon him and his mind wandered into the freedoms that lay outside the castle.

 

If he could only be allowed but one thing...

 

* * *

  
  


The next day the castle was buzzing with interest and intrigue. There were rumours abound.

 

“Have you heard that The King intends to marry?”

 

“Any word of who it could be?”

 

“What difference does it make? Doesn’t matter the name or the face it’s all the same. Just another ‘Your Highness’ or another ‘Your Grace’ to add to the table. Honestly, I’ll never even bother to learn their name.”

 

Courfeyrac sat upon one of the kitchen tables, biting into an apple. “It’s unsurprising that the king hasn’t announced it yet, I believe that they are merely rumours. I’ve never heard my Lord speak about them.”

 

“Perhaps if you spent more time serving your Lord and less time eating our apples you’d be more of a reliable source for gossip.” Grantaire bit back at him, scrubbing at the pots and pans leftover from the night before.

 

“Alas,” Courfeyrac sighed, tossing the core carelessly over his shoulder. “There is gossip even I am barred from. My Lord is in a meeting so private they will not allow us Squires to attend.”

 

“Oh, how horrific. Whilst us servants never know any differently.” Grantaire quipped, turning to Courfeyrac. “How does it feel to be down on the same level as us for once?” He teased.

 

“How do they allow somebody so bitter to work in a kitchen of all the places? Doesn’t it spoil the quality of the food?” Courfeyrac grinned back at him.

 

“I’ve had no complaints so far, even when the Master is away and I’m free to make my specialty.”

 

“And what does your specialty consist of?”

 

“It’s all the same.” Grantaire shrugged. “I just add a pinch of spit to the High Lord’s stew.”

 

Courfeyrac laughed brightly leaning back against the table with a breeze of delight. Grantaire continued on with his work as they resided in comfortable silence.

 

“Talking seriously however,” Courfeyrac said after a few moments had passed. “If the King does actually marry, you can bet there will be unrest.”

 

“What do you mean?” Grantaire frowned at him, pausing in his cleaning duties.

 

“Grantaire sometimes I believe you’ve traded your brain for that of a horse’s.” Courfeyrac laughed. “The last time this Kingdom had a wedding? Do you not recall your childhood warnings?”

 

“If you are talking about the revolution…” Grantaire said lowering his voice. “You cannot honestly believe anybody would be foolish enough to try something like that again.”

 

“There are rumours.” Courfeyrac shrugged in the casual manner that he was best known for.

 

Grantaire rolled his eyes and continued on with his work. “There always are when you are around.”

 

Courfeyrac jumped off the table, and walked over to Grantaire. He leaned against the wall close to him. “These are rumours that I didn’t invent though. I know for a fact the Lord’s are worried about… certain parties causing unrest and hence a revolution. I don’t think the King would marry at such a crucial time of peace of the Kingdom.”

 

Grantaire laughed at him. “You are as subtle as you are ugly. Which is to say, not at all. You are talking about Enjolras when you mention certain parties. You can tell your Lords they have nothing to fear. My Enjolras may be as fierce as a lightning washed sky but he is no revolutionary. At least, not now.” Grantaire’s face sunk a little. “Especially considering… Certain relations he has.”

 

“His parents?” Courfeyrac asked. “Yes, it’s no wonder that Enjolras is so determined and hot headed, considering they were the leaders of the last revolution.”

 

Grantaire grew quiet as he scrubbed at the already immaculate porcelain in his hands. “Not just  _ his _ parents… You are forgetting… Nevermind. You are an awful distraction and if you would go to bother some other poor soul I would greatly appreciate the kindness.”

 

Courfeyrac went to ask what Grantaire refused to say, but stopped himself. “ _ Mon ami, _ I know you enjoy my company greatly. But if you wish me to go, I shall go.”

 

Grantaire continued to scrub in silence. He carefully placed the porcelain upon a stack of clean dishes before reaching aside to the barrel of apples beside him, tossing one into Courfeyrac’s hands. “Stay.” He said begrudgingly. “And you compare me to the horse? It is you that has the diet of one.”

 

Courfeyrac beamed, and bit straight into the apple. “My diet is thankfully plentiful, and it is not a crime to enjoy apples and oats.” He paused, before looking Grantaire straight in the eye. 

 

“You do realise, Grantaire, that if Enjolras were allowed the liberties we are provided, there  _ would  _ be another revolution. I can see in his heart that he wants to tear the monarchy apart, and that he wants to campaign for the people. He’s done so much for us. Imagine the revolt that would occur if he was let outside again for the first time since he was a toddler.”

 

Grantaire shook his head looking down into the wash basin. “You are wrong, my dear friend. I believe if Enjolras was allowed out once more then he would go far, far away from here. He would leave this place behind and never look back. Honestly, could you blame him if he left us behind as well?”

 

Courfeyrac sighed, taking a step towards Grantaire and giving him a light pat on the back. “You, as always, are much too hard on yourself. If you believe for more than a moment that Enjolras would leave us behind, especially yourself included, then you really do have a horse’s brain.”

 

Grantaire huffed, and turned his face away. “Why would he ever want to stay with how this kingdom has wronged him?”

 

Courfeyrac merely smiled as he replied. “Why would he ever leave when it remains this way?” 

 

In the distance a bell chimed a dozen times, signalling that noon had arrived.

 

“I must leave you with your multitude of dishes.” Courfeyrac said as he turned to leave. “By now the meeting is over, and I suppose my Lord will have missed my charming face.”

 

Grantaire laughed. “He’s probably grateful for the break.”

 

Courfeyrac’s grin grew wider at the insult and blew a kiss into the air of Grantaire’s direction. “You know you’ll miss me.” He called out as he left.

 

“I don’t think I will!” Grantaire laughed.

 

* * *

 

The next day was even worse for gossip and rumour. It was as if a whole kingdom of Courfeyrac’s arose. Someone somewhere had cooked up a ridiculous story about the King having fallen for a servant, and it had spread fast and hard as if it were some terrible plague.

 

“It’s all another rouse they’ve invented to make us believe he loves the people.” Musichetta was saying as she brined the beef. “Oh the King loves his people so much he has fallen in love and is marrying a commoner! It is a joke. He would never marry the likes of us.”

 

“Musichetta, darling,” Joly said softly. He had slipped away from his post at the medical ward to collect the meals for the sickly that night. “You are forgetting how easy it is to fall in love with you.”

 

“Me?” Musichetta laughed. “My darling, you are too sweet. You think the King means to steal me away from you?”

 

“He has more than once complimented your kind eyes.” Joly said, shifting uncomfortably.

 

“ _ That _ ,” Musichetta replied firmly. “Is because I bring him breakfast. You too would be brimming with compliments if I brought you the finest harvests in the lands in the harsh morning light.”

 

“So why does he only ever request that  _ you  _ bring him his food?” Joly whined, suddenly looking quite ill with sadness. “Why not Cosette or Grantaire?”

 

Grantaire laughed harshly at the question, cutting even slices into the bread that he had just finished baking. “It is common knowledge, my dear friend, that the King has no fondness for my presence.”

 

“That is all well and good.” Joly said crossing his arms in annoyance “But what of Cosette?”

 

“My sweet,” Musichetta said, her voice patient with a hint of frustration. “Cosette only knows to cook the pastries. Pastry for breakfast is hardly an acceptable meal, especially for a King.”

 

Joly made a whining noise as he buried his head in his hands. “He loves you. He means to steal you away from me. I just know it.”

 

“Joly,” Grantaire said kindly, placing a supportive hand on his shoulder. “Stop with your overly worried head for a moment. These are all just rumours, nothing more. The King is not going to marry anytime soon, Courfeyrac said so himself. And he would certainly not be marrying a commoner, let alone a servant.”

 

Cosette laughed from across the room, as she started mixing batter for the next round of pastries. “I think they’re right, Joly, imagine a servant as a bride or husband to the King! Your Musichetta is safe in your care.” she said warmly.

 

Joly did not look anymore at ease, he appeared to want to make another argument as a minstrel hurried breathlessly into the room, placing their lute down upon one of the countertops.

 

“Jehan, we have told you many a time that that tiny thing will get lost in here if you place it down so carelessly.” Cosette said not unkindly.

 

Jehan seemed to not hear as he was brimming with excited energy. “The King is in love!” He declared excitedly.

 

Grantaire just rolled his eyes and continued slicing. “It’s gossip Jehan. Nothing more. He will not marry, and definitely will never marry a servant. Besides I think the King may be incapable of love.”

 

Jehan shook his head quickly, still seemingly out of breath and beaming. “You do not understand! I felt it in the air of the courtroom! He asked myself and another minstrel to serenade him with songs of sweet things and romantic ventures! Usually he is all for sonnets of battle and victory! He’s never requested such a thing like it! It’s as though a dove flew through his windowpane in the dead of night and talked to him of poetry and sweetlings! He had a tinge of pink on his cheeks at the request, as though he was abashed by the idea. Who would think that something so simple, so pure, so sweet as love could cause a King to blush! Our king has heeded cupid’s call, and has been struck so effervescently by the subject of infatuation. Love, such a beautiful phenomenon, has affected our King. Why must you deny it?”

 

Joly let out an anguished cry and hit his head upon the table. “So it is true! My love is going to be stolen away from me!”

 

“Joly,” Musichetta said sensibly. “Would you think on it seriously? Even if the King is indeed in love why would he marry a serving wench who brings him his meals?”

 

“Because you deserve jewels and silk and all the fine things I cannot afford for you.” Joly whined as he reached out a hand, inviting her touch. “He sees that and he means to fix it. He can take anything he wants.”

 

“I do not need those things,  _ mon coeur _ .” Musichetta said embracing him and pulling him upwards. “I have you.”

 

“It would not at all be surprising if royalty would fall for you however.” Bossuet said shyly as he stepped into the kitchen with Feuilly, their shirt hems still dirtied from a day in the stables. 

“You see!” Joly said, not noticing Bossuet’s blush or his dropped gaze. “Even Bossuet agrees you hold his heart!”

 

Grantaire paused in his duties to give Bossuet a supportive clap on the back as his friend watched the two people he secretly wanted for hold each other.

 

“Joly, the medical warden says he’s been waiting on you to deliver meals to our patients for quite some time.” The young Doctor Combeferre had popped his head inside the kitchen doors, he was not usually seen hanging about these parts, as he tended to many of the Lords and Ladies in the castle he was considered slightly above the servants. Although he never struck Grantaire as the type to parade that in their face or particularly care. Enjolras also talked quite highly of his common sense, and Enjolras was usually a terrific judge of character.  “Is your leg perhaps giving you some trouble?” Combeferre asked.

 

“Not his leg but his melancholy.” Feuilly said thoughtfully as Jehan picked up his lute and began to play a melody sad and slow.

 

“Why are you melancholic?” Combeferre asked concernedly stepping into the already overcrowded kitchen.

 

“He’s being foolish.” Musichetta said before Joly could reply.

 

“Does the whole Kingdom have to be privy to this conversation?” Grantaire said throwing his hands up in annoyance as Bossuet bumped his knife to the floor and leaning down to pick it up. 

 

The company ignored him.

 

“Pull yourself together Joly, I can push the meal cart if you’re not feeling up to it.” Combeferre said kindly. “But if we are not back soon the warden will have our heads.”

 

Joly nodded glumly as he picked up his cane.

 

“Don’t let some royal gossip get you down Joly,” Feuilly said with an encouraging smile. “Just keep working hard and holding your head up high above it.”

 

Just as Combeferre and Joly were making to leave a loud and dramatic voice was heard echoing throughout the corridors. 

 

“Speaking of royal gossip…” Grantaire mumbled as Courfeyrac stumbled breathlessly into the room.

 

“You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.” Joly said frowning, stopping in his tracks.

 

“Not a ghost, but a revelation!” Courfeyrac gasped out. “The King intends to marry!”

 

Grantaire groaned as he slammed the knife on the countertop. “Yesterday you said it was but a rumour. Do us a kindness and make up your mind before poor Joly loses his wits.”

 

Courfeyrac shook his head. It was only then that Grantaire noticed the grave expression on his face and the paleness in his cheeks. 

 

“It is not a rumour! I’ve just discovered... My Lord was discussing it with another. He all but confirmed a date!” Courfeyrac paused a moment to catch his breath, the room went quiet as they waited for him to continue. He was uncharacteristically subdued for a moment.

 

“It will also be a servant.” He said quietly, looking down towards the floor. Jehan abruptly stopped playing as the room grew still and silent.

 

Everyone looked towards Joly who had grown quite pale. “Did they say-?”

 

“I don’t know who.” Courfeyrac said quickly shaking his head. “The Lords were very careful not to mention a name in front of me. I think they are under the impression that I have a knack for spreading talk.”

 

“And is there any truth in that?” The young Doctor Combeferre asked Courfeyrac. Everyone turned their attentions to him, causing him to blush. “Apologies. This is perhaps not the time for introductions.” Courfeyrac stared and shrugged, before turning back to the room at large.

 

Bossuet ignored the interruption and spoke only to Courfeyrac. “Did they say anything about them that we could try to procure an answer?”

 

Courfeyrac looked over to Joly and the tight grip he held his cane with. He hesitated before replying. “Only that… The person the King intends to marry already has a suitor.”

 

The tension in the air was thick enough that a knife could cut through it. 

 

Musichetta paled and Joly looked as though he was about to faint.

* * *

  
  


It was unusual for Enjolras to be granted a leave of absence. But his Lord has been oddly stoic today and when the bells had rung out at midday he’d told Enjolras to retire to his chambers until he was called for duty. 

 

Enjolras, glad to be out of Sir Bourgaillard’s company, didn’t question the decision and made straight for the kitchens. Stopping in just before the luncheon was served however turned out to be a terrible decision, as the hustle and bustle of the workday was uninterruptable, and the Kitchen Master seemed in a worse mood than usual. Grantaire had only just seen him briefly, and Enjolras did not want to cross the wrong path in the middle of service, so he merely told him he had some time off instead and walked back to their chamber to take to writing.

 

In the brief moments he had alone he’d often compile lists. Small ideas for ways to improve their lives (sometimes realistic sometimes completely out of their reach), things that he and Grantaire had yet to try, and places he longed most to see. These lists often gave him peace and he always enjoyed the calmness of calligraphy. He’d been taught at a young age so as to be able to dictate and write for his Lord.

 

It seemed time had crept away from him, and the afternoon was creeping by in a lazy haze. A rare occurrence that he had subconsciously taken full advantage of. He rose, supposing that the kitchens would be quieter now and Grantaire had told him that Bossuet and Feuilly would often stop by when the sun reached this level in the sky. He smiled at the thought of seeing them, being able to spend time with them, laughing with them without looking over his shoulder for his Lord.

 

His joy was quickly stripped away the moment a sharp knock came at his door. He figured some poor serving boy had come to fetch him for his Master and regretted being lost in his quill for as long as he was.

 

Opening the door however he was greeted by two intimidatingly tall and haughty looking palace guards, cloaked in the royal blue of the Kingdom with metal plates across their chests. Enjolras took one glance at the swords sheathed in their holders, before looking up to meet the guard’s eyes.

 

“You are to come with us, by order of the King’s council.”

 

Enjolras took an instinctive step back, confused and instantly on guard. “No. I was told to wait until my Master called me. He may need my assistance.” He attempted to reason, his breathing picking up.

 

“That order has been overruled.” The second one said gruffly.

 

Enjolras stood his ground looking them defiantly in the eye. “I’m not coming with you.” He said determinedly. “I haven’t done anything wrong. I am  _ not  _ coming with you.”

 

“You don’t have a choice.”

 

The first guard made to grab Enjolras, who moved quickly swatting his hand away, but not quickly enough for the second who clasped his wrist with force and pulled him out of the doorway.

 

“No! Get off me!” He yelled out futily as they began to drag him away. His softening screams continued down the marble hall, as he struggled against the stronger guards.

 

The door slammed behind them in a hollow crack. 

* * *

  
  


There was unrest and anxiousness among the servants in the main quarters. Their conversation hovered slightly above a hum as they waited for more information.   
  
Tonight the King was choosing who he was to marry, was what Courfeyrac had said, and none of them knew who he was so taken with.   
  
Joly sat huddled against Musichetta, whispering sweet assurances in her ear and gripping her hand just a smidgen too tight. She didn’t voice complaint, she didn’t know if this would be the last time she’d be able to hold his hand. Since Courfeyrac’s revelation the tides had turned, she looked more petrified than he and at this, Joly had become strong, telling her that it would all turn out well.

Others were sitting gossiping, making broad suggestions of who it could be and desperately waiting for the news to break.

Grantaire sat alone. He seemed strangely sober as he drank his share of brandy and sat in sullen silence.   
  
“R, my dear friend,” Bossuet said, joining him at his table and looking morosely towards the place where Joly and Musichetta were currently sitting. “You look glum. Are you concerned for your fate?”   
  
“Mine?” Grantaire asked bitterly. “No. The King has frequently discussed his distaste of me, my face in particular seems to give him grievance.”   
  
“Then why, if you don’t mind my prying, do you seem so lost? You’re usually the first to make light of such situations.”   
  
“Enjolras.” Grantaire said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Did you not realise he is the only one not present? I tried to find him in our chambers and it’s as if he’s vanished. He mentioned he had been relieved of duty, he should have been there.”   
  
“You don’t think he could be…?”   
  
Grantaire eyes were shadowed with anger and darkness. “What other explanation is there?” He bit out a little too sharply. “Were he not, he’d be the first on the table, talking of the injustice that this is. And this is an injustice, but one I’m afraid even he cannot stand against. This is what I tried to tell him a multitude of times. It’s my grave mistake, I’ve grown impassive in his company. I’ve stopped telling him it’s useless. Instead I’ve replaced my warnings with useless sweet words of love and hope? Ha. Hope is nothing but a children's sentiment … Now he’s grown careless without my warnings. What are we to a King? Fodder for his cruelties and his wealth. There’s no way to fight this, we all know it. We’re here to work and die and do his bidding. At the end of the day we are the ant and he is the boot and all he has to do is put his foot down to crush us all beneath him.”   
  
“But Enjolras always fights against the King,” Bossuet argued trying to comfort his friend. “Be easy,  _ mon ami _ , I am sure there are other explanations. He could be in the King’s court protesting the injustices we face today. He always fights for us.”   
  
“Enjolras fights for scraps. More food rations, more beds. That is nothing. This is much more than that.”   
  
“The King can be fair when it comes to Enjolras. He always listens to his arguments. He claims to love his people.”   
  
“That’s exactly my fear.” Grantaire said darkly. The sickness in the pit of his stomach upon hearing Enjolras had barely been punished had never fully left him. “Any other King would cut the head off the snake, let the body die out. Why else keep a mere servant around who runs his mouth and rallies a convocation of servants. He has a soft spot for my lover. That, or worse.”   
  
“Worse? What could be worse?”

Grantaire was quiet for a long while. He sipped his brandy with pursed lips and a furrowed brow.   
  
“He means to break him.”   
  
Just as it seemed Bossuet was about to make a counter, a noise from the hallway alerted them to a new presence. The room stiffened in anticipation, two palace guards were dragging Enjolras by the arms into the room. Grantaire stood to his feet, fear gripping his heart as he saw Enjolras’ head bowed down.   
  
The guards threw him carelessly into the quarters before making their exit. Grantaire had crossed the room and slid to his knees before the other occupants had comprehended what had happened.   
  
Gripping Enjolras in his arms he lifted his face towards his own, drawing in a sharp breath at the sight of it. Blood was running down his nose and was splayed across his mouth. They’d been careful, hurting him without causing any exterior damage.   
  
Grantaire gripped him tightly. “ _ Mon ange _ ,” He whispered softly against Enjolras, holding back his own tears and fear grasping at his heart. “What have they done to you?”   
  
Enjolras was quiet for a second, his grip on Grantaire weak, he was clutching at him like he had never before. His breaths were shallow, and the room was full of the unnatural silence that seemed to have affected Enjolras deeply. 

“I am to be married.” He said, his voice broken in disbelief.

  
Grantaire felt his world shatter beneath him. Entwining their fingers, he knew he was about to go against everything he didn’t believe in, everything he had told Enjolras in the past was useless and pointless and couldn’t be won.   
  
“We will fight the King,  _ mon chéri, _ ” Grantaire said fiercely in his ear as Enjolras grip tightened on him. “And we will win.”

  
  



	2. Goodbyes are much too bittersweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Throughout hearing Enjolras recall his tale Grantaire’s anger had been brimming and threatening to burst, but Enjolras’ face; so usually full of fire and confidence was lacking such qualities and in its place there was this broken man before him. Grantaire’s anger faded away and helplessness took its place as a cold and terrible realisation dawned on him. 
> 
> “I am to lose you?” He asked in a crushed tone. The shock had settled and reality had hit him with no mercy.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> theoneamazingcaitlin:
> 
> Here's a fun game. 
> 
> a) What did Caitlin write that made Athena laugh  
> b) What did Caitlin write that almost made Athena cry  
> c) What did Caitlin write that is a recent reference to a political event that made her mad.

 

There was a stretching stillness amidst the quarters as the two stayed entwined against each other. No one dared breathe, lest their words were the one to break Enjolras out of his self-imposed silence.

 

Enjolras was to marry the King.

 

All too suddenly the whispers started and Grantaire was broken from his only focus. His fear and heartbreak about the ominous circumstances would have to wait. For now, he had to get Enjolras back to their chambers; his face was still covered in blood and his mentality appeared to be weakening the longer he stayed within Grantaire’s arms. 

 

He threw a look of pleading desperation towards Joly, who untangled his grip from Musichetta’s hand and made his way over towards them. 

 

The approaching footsteps broke the whispered mutterings. Silence overcame them once more as he approached Enjolras and looked at his injuries. Grantaire still held him tightly in his arms. Joly had a guarded expression hiding behind his eyes as he took Enjolras’ face in his hands and began to study it. Enjolras would not meet his gaze.

 

Leaning down towards Grantaire, he whispered, “There is nothing to be done but clean the wounds.” He reached into the pocket of his long-coat and pulled out a few spare bandages. “Take these and remove him from here with haste.” 

 

Grantaire took the dressing from his hands. Joly’s hands lingered a second longer than necessary in act of solidarity and support. They exchanged a mutual look of understanding. Joly did not want the King to choose Musichetta as his companion, but Grantaire knew he never would have wished that same fate on Enjolras, or for that matter anyone.

 

The usually unwavering face of Enjolras looked quite ready to break and Grantaire felt a fierce instinctual protective force take a hold of him. Using the most gentle strength he could he bundled Enjolras into his arms and lifted him up into his arms. 

 

Carrying him across the room and into the corridor, he ignored the growingly concerned looks that his friends were casting towards them. Placating them would have to wait until a time where Grantaire had found out exactly what had happened and when Enjolras wasn’t looking so unlike himself.

 

The walk towards the chamber was akin to tiptoeing across a lake of ice in the middle of winter. He took his steps slow and steady, the usual warmth of Enjolras’ presence had been replaced with a cold stiff embrace. Enjolras was barely holding onto the back of Grantaire’s neck, his hand entwined in a weak grip. Seeing how frail Enjolras had become after the revelation was like a thunderbolt coursing through his very bones. His entire self was in shock. He found himself counting his fortunes that Enjolras’ frame and height was more petite than his own; he doubted his lover would be able to walk on his own in his current state.

 

It seemed that the Gods had granted Grantaire a small favour after handing him such a cruelty. Their walk to their chamber saw them passing no guards or servants along their way. It was only Enjolras pressed against him and his own crushing thoughts and frozen heart that lingered in the empty hallways. Once they reached the door he found himself letting out a breath of relief he had not realised he’d been holding in.

 

He managed to open it after some struggle and slowly brought Enjolras inside. Walking over to the straw mattress, he paused before gently lowering him down upon the bedding, taking in every sad aspect of Enjolras’ terrible expression and wishing that he could wipe it away with a kiss and kind words. It would not be that simple.

 

Grantaire sat beside him and held Enjolras’ face in his hands once more, there was more light within their chambers than in the servants quarters, and as Grantaire began to clean the drying blood off of his face it became quite clear to him that Enjolras miniscule injuries were the least of their worries. He tried to keep his hands steady for Enjolras who was looking down at the cold floor beneath them. He looked as though he was a ghost of himself, pale and expressionless. 

 

He stroked his thumb over the small thin cut on Enjolras’ bottom lip, Enjolras flinched slightly at the touch and Grantaire withdrew his hand instantly, resting it instead on the bed beside them. Enjolras had never recoiled from him so before, what had they done to him? He wanted to say a thousand words of comfort but he did not know where to begin and did not know if the words would even come. 

 

Grantaire was thankful for the fact that Enjolras appeared to be gaining some of his nature back once more. He waited patiently beside him, his hand wishing to reach out and comfort Enjolras’ but he did not wish to upset Enjolras anymore. If he flinched away at his touch then so be it, he would not force it.

 

“They took me into the council's meeting room.” Enjolras said finally, his voice empty and broken. 

 

Grantaire had a myriad of questions, but he held his tongue instead and allowed Enjolras to talk freely. As soon as the first words struggled out of his throat they began to stumble out in an unbroken tangent

 

“All of the King’s council was present, but the King was not. I was dragged there by two of the King’s guardsmen. They had stolen me from our chambers and all of a sudden I was appearing before the council like a common criminal. I feared for my fate as I believed it to be a delayed punishment for my vocal outbursts in the courtroom. My mind was in a rush and only the worst scenarios played out as possibilities as I stood before the council members. I did not know what to fear more; the horrid and barbaric conditions of the castle dungeons or execution. I thought they’d throw me within their cramped walls, not to see the light of day for months. Those horrid cells with no food and no water and only darkness to serve as company. Instead they asked me to sit at the council’s table, something you know a servant is forbidden to do. I thought it a trick or some kind of strange joke but they insisted.

 

“When I did eventually sit, they told me with no uncertainty that I was to marry the King. I couldn’t think. It was the last thing I expected to hear and the shock of it all reduced me to silence. Then I laughed; what a cruel joke my Lord was playing, surely, that’s what must be happening, was what I thought. But the Lords remained stoic and explained that the matter was serious and finalised.”

 

Grantaire hovered his hand above Enjolras’ wordlessly asking for permission to touch it. Enjolras pressed his palm against it and Grantaire entwined their fingertips, giving him a small supportive squeeze. Brushing his other hand over the small cut across his forehead he said. “I take it you reacted poorly?”

 

“At first I didn’t dare to speak. They were talking about a whole mess of things. My mind appeared to be rebelling and my attention began to blur. I could not focus on their words because I was so set on the disbelief of it all. They mentioned something about removing myself to higher chambers, dousing revolutions and a truce for the people… But it all washed over me in the realisation that what they spoke was no unkind joke or trick but a truth instead... The most horrible truth.”

 

“And then?” Grantaire asked, his chest tight and his heart like lead.

 

“And then…” Enjolras took a long breath, this time it was his hand clasping Grantaire’s. “And then I told them no.”

 

“They did not like your answer.” Grantaire stated plainly, the apprehensive thoughts plaguing his mind began to grow darker and the questions he had were in the multitudes, but he stopped himself from asking, as Enjolras clearly was not done.

 

Enjolras’ face had grim lines stretched across it. “It was their turn to laugh at me. They told me quite clearly that I did not have a choice in the matter. That there was no second option to choose.” His eyes grew dark and his voice bitter. “After all the King always gets what he wants.”

 

“Of course I didn’t stop there.” Enjolras continued, his bitterness twisting into slow regret. “I had to push the matter a touch too hard. I began to lose my place and raise my voice. I told them that I was no bargaining piece in their game of politics. They called me ungrateful, told me that this was an opportunity most servants would beg for. They began to threaten the people, to take away all of the small favours I had won for them over the years. When that did not stop me from protesting their plans the next thing I knew the guards were beside me and I tasted blood before I could comprehend the hand that swung at me.”

 

Grantaire moved his hand across Enjolras’ cheek. Enjolras leaned it to it gratefully, closing his eyes and allowing himself a moment of calm.

 

When he continued on again his voice was lost within itself. “I’ve known my Lord to be cruel, but rarely kind. He ordered them to stop the moment I hit the floor. He approached me and pulled me to my feet. He told me there was no use fighting on this particular issue, that the King was unmovable in his decision and had made up his mind. I’ve never heard his voice so pitiful, especially where I am concerned. He granted me until the sun sets tomorrow eve to end my affairs and to pack my things, then I was sent back to the servants quarters.”

 

Throughout hearing Enjolras recall his tale Grantaire’s anger had been brimming and threatening to burst, but Enjolras’ face; so usually full of fire and confidence was lacking such qualities and in its place there was this broken man before him. Grantaire’s anger faded away and helplessness took its place as a cold and terrible realisation dawned on him. 

 

“I am to lose you?” He asked in a crushed tone. The shock had settled and reality had hit him with no mercy.

 

Enjolras’ breaths shuddered to a halt. The uncomfortable pause spread rapidly through the room, before Enjolras broke it once more. “My love, this will be the last night we are permitted to spend with one another.”

 

Grantaire felt his soul shatter before him at Enjolras’ words. All too much it came crashing down upon him. Enjolras must have noticed, for he touched their foreheads together, his hand clasping the crook of his neck and pulled their bodies to lay on the bed.

 

They stayed still and silent in each other’s embrace.

 

Finally Grantaire spoke again. Enjolras expected a broken and fragile tone, but instead Grantaire’s voice sounded rather light and floaty, as though lost in a dream. 

 

“Do you remember the first time we met?” He asked.

 

Enjolras was taken aback by the question. “Yes.” He said rather confusedly. “I do believe I hated you.”

 

Grantaire let out a shaky laugh, his voice coming out in a rambling rush. “The King was holding a ball. For once I was outside of the kitchens as they were shorthanded and needed us to serve the Lords. I was harried from running back and forth from kitchen to ballroom and you did not take kindly to me spilling gravy down your shirtfront.”

 

Enjolras laughed at the memory. It seemed such a foolish thing to be upset at now, but at the time he had been furious. “I would not have been so affronted if you did not make an immediate pun at the situation.” He said fondly.

 

“‘ _ Oh dear, when your Lord sees that he’ll surely send you to your gravy _ .’” Grantaire chuckled, reciting the pun from memory.

 

Enjolras had to roll his eyes again at the joke. “Yes… Then I was angry and you were being an ass and we somehow derailed onto a topic completely different, which we also fought about.”

 

“You did not have to follow me into the kitchens to continue arguing with me about it, however!” Grantaire said his voice cascading into a crescending laughter.

 

“I only had to because you started countering every point I made. You were insufferable.”

 

“Insufferable as I may be, it seemed you had a liking for arguing with me.” Grantaire continued, a sly smile spreading across his face. “As you often wandered into the kitchens for the sole purpose of doing so.”

 

“And for half a year I would come to you with every intention of bickering and you would contentiously greet me with a smile. It infuriated me.”

 

“I was just happy you came to visit me.” Grantaire chuckled.

 

“Came to  _ argue _ with you.” Enjolras corrected, Grantaire’s smile infectious and spreading now to him.

 

“And then I asked you for a change of pace.” Grantaire said. “I said the kitchens were not a proper setting for a discussion of our calibre. If we wished to raise our voices and make our arguments heard properly we should take it outside... You got so quiet all of a sudden and you told me that you were not permitted to leave the castle walls.”

 

Enjolras nodded, his smile fading slightly. 

 

“I realised exactly who you were.” Grantaire continued looking directly into Enjolras’ eyes and stroking a thumb across his cheekbone. “You were the servant who spoke up for the people and the workers livelihoods despite not being able to leave the castle walls. The son of the revolutionaries, campaigning for the people he knew of secondhand. I thought what you were doing was not going to change anything, but you did it anyway. You had already peaked my interests just so. More than just so. But then everything about you standing before me made sense and suddenly the small arguments we partook in were not enough. I needed to know every detail of you all at once. That boy who had stood before me, so determined and charming, I had never desired to know someone so much.”

 

Enjolras was quiet for a moment. Grantaire had never before relayed their meeting like this to him and to hear his thoughts and perception was touching at his heart. 

 

“I was shocked when you asked me if I wanted to talk with you.” He said finally, his voice quiet and pensive. “I thought that you couldn’t be serious-”

 

“-But I was!” Grantaire said excitedly, relishing in the memories of eight months past. “And we spent the whole night just talking of nothing. It was much more pleasant than biting at each other’s heads. Of course, you were not such a good influence on my already rebellious spirit. On a whim I knew that you deserved the stars, and grabbed your hand and we hid in the wine cellar for hours until the guards changed over and I snuck you out into the courtyard where the rose gardens lay…”

 

He paused, a contented smile lingering on his lips at the memory. 

 

“The King often compares the garden's beauty to that of the Gods but I had another face in mind. As you stood before the multitude of roses it was hard to look away from your awestruck expression despite the marble littering our feet and the gradient of colours that stood before us. I have no regrets of bringing you to those forbidden courtyards.”

 

“I’d never seen such a sight before my eyes- Well… Perhaps not never, as I  _ was _ standing there with you. However it was the first time in my memory I’d seen the night sky from a place not within the castle walls. But you could have been  _ executed _ for that.” Enjolras said slightly reprimandingly.

 

Grantaire smiled sweetly back at him. “It was worth it to see your expression.”

 

“You were the one who couldn’t stop smiling!”

 

“Only because you kissed me.”

 

They laughed softly together and Enjolras met their lips together. 

 

“I knew then, I think, why I kept fighting with the kitchen worker who always refuted my arguments.”

 

Grantaire’s expression became slightly guarded and they slid back once more into an uncomfortable and mournful silence. Enjolras watched as his face drew close to breaking. He appeared to be fighting back the tears that looked as though they were threatening to burst at any moment. 

 

Enjolras didn’t want to let go of him, but he knew that it would make their departure so much worse if he clung too tightly.

 

“You should just forget about me.” He said quietly. “You are but twenty four and still have such a life before you. Do not let me hold it back, I already have for much too long. The only reason you haven’t left these castle walls and made your place in the village is because I was forbidden from leaving. You have never approved or agreed with how I choose to spend my time within my confinement, and now you can choose to live yours without my burden. Now you can live a full life without my limitations becoming yours as well.”

 

Grantaire’s face twisted in a mesh of shock and anger.

 

“I don’t want to forget about you!” He said furiously, sitting up suddenly. “You talk of me of having a life before me? What of you? You are but twenty one and deserve a life outside these walls, so do not dare to bring my age into this when you deserve a livelihood greater than you’ve ever been given! These last eight months have I ever voiced complaint or even desire to leave this castle? I would stay in this building- Hell… This very room for the rest of my days  if it meant I could stay with you and only you. I do not need a place in the village, I do not need futile promises of bright futures or changes, I do not need freedom from this horrid monarchy. All I need is  _ you. _ That’s all I’ve ever needed. Do not tell me to forget you as such a thing is an impossibility. I could more easily forget meeting a God. But you? I could never forget you.”

 

Enjolras waited as Grantaire took a moment to draw a breath. “I cannot lose you.” Grantaire said in a more desperate tone, his voice cracking and raising an octave. “To do so would be to lose a part of myself. I will do everything I can in my power to hold onto you. I will fight this, I will do this for you.”

 

“And in doing so you will get yourself killed!” Enjolras said sitting up and matching the anger of Grantaire’s earlier tone. “My fate is signed and sealed. There is nothing I or you or anybody in this castle can do to change that!”

 

“You would not be saying these things if it were someone else forced into this situation! Is your hope so fragile that it breaks the moment it’s assigned to yourself?”

 

“And what of you, Grantaire! If it were anybody else  _ you  _ would be the one telling _ me  _ it was hopeless to fight it. Do not suddenly change your dismal tone to hope and belief now that I am in it’s place. Do not pretend to believe that we can stop this!”

 

Grantaire looked at him defiantly.

 

Enjolras wrestled himself out of the covers and stepped back angrily. He watched as Grantaire’s eyes slowly moved away from his retreating form, to look up at the ceiling. Enjolras clenched his fists and grabbed a small sack he found. When he turned back to face Grantaire to find that he had turned onto his other side. Enjolras stared at his lover, counting the smattering of moles on Grantaire’s back before turning away in anger. He wiped away a stray tear, and gripped the bag tighter.

 

What an idiot he was, to argue with him the last night they had together and encase the room in sullen silence. What an ass Grantaire was being, trying to fill his head with lies of hope and for not just admitting to him what he surely believed; that this particular fight could not be won. 

 

Enjolras believed in the people, more than he believed in anything. He spoke up for them not for personal gain or glory but because he wished the commoners in the villages and the servants in the castle would have a voice, and through him there was that chance. He wrote letters speaking of the injustices they faced and with help from Feuilly distributed them wide. The replies received were his only source of knowing how they felt, and their words of encouragement and thanks would often inspire him to do more, do better, and be braver. He was angry that he was completely unable to say how he felt and what they lived through. Although he would never admit to such a thing aloud, all Enjolras wanted was to cause that spark, that one flame to cause the raging fire of the people rising.

 

Now, packing his things under the watch of the setting sun his heart began to ache as he realised that sitting beside a King for the rest of his days was just the kind of thing that was needed to do the opposite. This must have been their intention whilst they planned his fate; if the son of two revolutionaries could marry royalty there would be no need for the people to rise. It was as though his stomach was drowned in hopelessness and his chest ached as if it had been set aflame and extinguished all too suddenly. All that remained were the cold, dark ashes slowly separating and drifting far away.

 

This? What Enjolras now had to become? The revolution Enjolras’ desired would never arise from this. Enjolras was fated to become the King’s whilst the people suffered forevermore. 

 

He would never be able to work for their rights if the King filled his ears with sweet-nothings instead of the helpless cries of the commoners. 

 

If Grantaire thought that Enjolras’ destiny was the sign for the people to rally and come to arms, he was wrong. He was not worth it. His life was not worth enough for people to stake their own for it, and to have Enjolras marry the King meant that no other poor soul had to be forced into it. 

 

A revolution that occurred now would be too rushed, prone to failure. It would fall and crumble as if the barricades were made of dust. Enjolras’ dreams would cease to exist. This was his fate, no matter how cruel, no matter how he felt. He had no time to plan, to object or to stop it. Fate was crushing him, and he had no time to escape its clutches. 

 

His hand reached out and closed around an old shirt of his. He groaned a few annoyances under his breath and mumbled angrily as he started placing his things in the sack; the few serving outfits he owned, the rags he used as clothes in his downtime, cleaning materials, anything he could see that was his. He set aside his quill, ink and parchment, vowing to pick them up in the morning. Looking around the room in a form of distress caused by latent anger, he noticed a brush that lay on the windowsill. Storming over, Enjolras grabbed at it and threw it carelessly in the sack.

 

He made the mistake of letting his gaze wander out to the grounds and the towards the village.

 

The sack fell through his fingertips as his grip slackened, slumping on the floor. Enjolras’ breathing stopped completely as he stepped forward to be pressed against the wall, watching as dusk settled over the castle gardens.

 

Outside... There was something that was barely a memory. He could see his parent’s faces bathed in sunlight as they lay in a field, the prick of the grass as they relaxed in the heat of the summer. He would have been no more than five years. The sole remembrance he had retained of them. Of he and his parents outside of these walls. Now he was here, the servant confined in the castle who had tried desperately to behave, to eventually ask for his freedom. He was trapped.

 

His hope of life outside castle walls had died with a proposal.

 

* * *

  
Grantaire was listening to Enjolras’ murmurs as he lay on his side, his anger still fueling him to stay silent despite his wants to bring Enjolras back into his arms and comfort him. For now though, he couldn’t bare to forgo his pride and apologise. To apologise would mean admitting he was wrong, and to do that would mean that Enjolras’ fate really was helpless. He could not, would not believe that, for it would mean too many terrible things. 

 

Grantaire took care to not believe in anything, but he had to believe in this. For holding onto this was all he had left.

 

The mutterings stopped abruptly, and Grantaire shifted in his bed, looking over to where Enjolras stood. He saw his beloved; hair glowing in the setting sun, a slump in his shoulders, standing in front of the window. His sack has fallen to his feet and objects had scattered to the floor, but Enjolras made no effort to pick them up. Really, he didn’t move at all. Grantaire sighed. 

 

Fuck his pride.

 

Pushing himself up from the bed, he moved across the room and wrapped his arms around Enjolras’ waist, he felt him fall into him as his grasp tightened.

 

“You are not alright.” He said against him. It wasn’t a question.

 

He felt Enjolras nod, his hair brushing against his chest. “No… I- I…” He stammered, his breathing becoming more erratic. Grantaire stroked small circles into Enjolras’ abdomen with his thumb. “It’s just, I thought if I tried hard enough and did better, eventually they’d grant me the small freedom of leaving after a time. But now… I feel my prison walls are closing in and have taken the form of a tower, whilst my chain is tethered to the King.”

 

“Shhh…  _ mon ange. _ ” Grantaire felt an uneasiness spreading throughout his body as he held onto Enjolras tighter. It was all wrong, there should not ever be uneasiness associated with holding his lover. His throat was dry and his heart was heavy. But they had precious little time and he did not want to spend his last night with Enjolras plagued in melancholy and regret. 

 

“Let us just have tonight. In the morning we shall talk again. I will fix this for us. But, tonight, let me be with you.”

 

Enjolras slowly straightened up and Grantaire released his hands so that his lover could turn easily.

 

“You are right.” Enjolras whispered. “This is our last night for a time come. Let us make it memorable, I want to look back on it and smile wistfully. Let us not argue.”

 

Grantaire nodded and took Enjolras’ hand in his own. Entwining their fingers he walked him over to their bed, gently leading him down upon the straw mattress. Enjolras took Grantaire’s face in his hands, his eyes passed over every crook in his nose, every strand of hair that refused to stick down, every detail that he could breathe in he burned into his memory. His thumb swiped along Grantaire’s cheekbone taking note of its structure, and smiled softly. He did not voice his fear of never seeing him again, instead he took Grantaire’s lips against his own and pressed upon them softly with an unspoken passion and devotion.

 

Grantaire pressed back stronger, an almost desperate need to encase Enjolras’ lips upon his own taking hold. The fleeting knowledge of time sifting through their fingertips was evident as Grantaire kissed him faster and harder. A momentum of frenzy and wild affection taking over his lips as they embraced Enjolras’.

 

They fell back upon the bed against each other, as the day darkened and the night encased them, their bodies tangled in not a want but a need to be as close together as they could. The starlit skies shone upon their skin as the vehemence of their want clutched tighter in an eager ardor. Words disappeared and were replaced with soft moans and contented sighs. Their bodies entwined into one entity, a tumbling form of their passions spilling frantically against one another.

 

When the darkness began to grow and creep over them, they collapsed together against the hard bedding, their breaths catching slightly. 

 

Grantaire pulled Enjolras in against himself as tightly as he could, his breath was still edgy and unsteady, but it had nothing to do with the movements they’d just been engaged in. He felt his world crashing down upon him with the knowledge that this would be the last evening he was permitted to spend with Enjolras’ pressed against his chest.

 

“Your heart is racing.” Enjolras said quietly. His breath hot against Grantaire.

 

Grantaire, did not reply. He merely pressed his lips against Enjolras’ head, pushing away the doubts in his mind and the lingering, crushing knowledge of Enjolras’ departure.

 

He entwined their fingers together and held on tightly.

 

* * *

  
  


The morning light washed over Enjolras’ face in a warm glow. For one peaceful, blissful moment he let himself be cuddled in Grantaire’s strong grip without pain or doubt plaguing his hazy mind.

 

Suddenly he was struck with the events from yesterday. Like he was doused in cold water, his insides froze and he let out a tiny, shaky breath. His eyes shot open in his panic, and he stopped himself from breathing for a few seconds, as they were loud and harsh. His eyes roamed the room, before they moved up to gaze upon Grantaire’s face.

 

His lover was still asleep, so Enjolras was careful not to wake him as he adjusted his position. He leaned his head upwards and studied Grantaire’s face in the sunlight, the crook of his nose, the fluttering of his eyelashes as he dreamt, his lips. He exhaled softly as he watched him sleep, and gave a small serene smile. Then it fell once again, as he realised he couldn’t fully enjoy this bittersweet morning without the lingering sense of dread for the nights to come.

 

He did not wish to lose him.

 

Closing his eyes again, he wished to fall back asleep so that he could remain in Grantaire’s arms for longer. He placed his head back on Grantaire’s chest and lay there, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Thoughts swirled around in his head, a whirlpool of trepidation that prevented him from slipping back into that dream-like headspace he so desired at this time. This was the last time he was going to wake up next to Grantaire. This was the last time he could spend time with him. It was going too quickly, he couldn’t appreciate everything to it’s full extent; Grantaire’s warmth in the cold nights, the strength of the arms that wrapped around his body, the rhythmic beat he fell asleep to every night.

 

It was easy then, to soothe his worried thoughts with the placating thump of Grantaire’s heart. His eyes began to fall shut once more as his mind eased into unconsciousness. 

 

Enjolras awoke again with a start. His breaths were heavy and coarse, the almost terror he had awoken from causing him to wake in a panic. The first thing his eyes focused on was the window, and he was startled again when he saw how high the sun was in the sky. He had been dreaming about the first night they had kissed. The night in the courtyard. But there was no castle, no walls, no guards blocking their exit. There was only a beautiful garden stretching as far as his eyes can see, and Grantaire. Grantaire’s eyes and his lopsided grin and his hands wrapped tightly around Enjolras. Enjolras thought on his dream a moment, and the endless possibilities Grantaire and he could have had there really been no castle.

 

He sunk back into his arms, trying to relax again. He was shaking, and squeezed his eyes shut in the childish belief that by not seeing a thing he would not be scared. He felt Grantaire shift beside him, and then there were rough and calloused hands combing through his hair. Then Grantaire’s voice, sleep-mussed as it was, picked up and started whispering soothing thoughts.

 

“Oh no.” Enjolras whispered, causing Grantaire to stop in his tracks. “I had hoped to everything I could have hoped for that I wouldn’t wake up. All I had wanted was to lay in your arms and let your heartbeat be the last thing I heard and remembered. What a fickle dream, that was, and now we are both awake and here in the world we wish not to be in. Please, let us fall back asleep again, so we do not need to deal with the events of today.”

 

Grantaire was silent as he continued to run his hand through Enjolras’ hair. He seemed to be having a mental battle of his own and Enjolras sighed again. How horrible he was, to torture his lover so. Yes, Enjolras would be the one to suffer at the hands of the King and his council, but he couldn’t imagine what Grantaire must be experiencing. He too was going through the fact that they were to be separated unwillingly. Enjolras was to be seen and not heard and Grantaire was to watch it happen without protest.

 

The councilmen must have voted for this, and now it had divided them. It was a vote that would not be for the good of the people and was only to serve the upper class’ agenda. Now Enjolras was to be torn away from Grantaire, with only the the remainder of the sun in the sky left for them. It already was high, much too high. Soon it would begin its descent and the hours would slip by. There was still so much left unsaid.

 

“Hush.” Grantaire said softly, pressing his lips to Enjolras’ curls.

 

“I didn’t say a word.” Enjolras replied confused.

 

“Your thoughts are unspoken yet relentless. I can hear them without you having to open your mouth. Don’t think on it for a moment.”

 

Enjolras rearranged his position and tried to relax himself. His thoughts however were betraying him. He felt as if they could not be left unspoken or that his mind would drive itself in circles.

 

“It is late in the morning, if you have not noticed. What of our duties?” Enjolras spoke the first thing that played in his mind.

 

“I assume your duties are now non-existent. As for mine, I cannot say the same. I will not be attending to the kitchens today, and the Kitchen Master seems to understand this, considering how our door is noticeably not broken down.”

 

Enjolras frowned. “You will not be paid.”

 

“That is the least of my worries.”

 

Enjolras could tell by his tone that the matter was not negotiable. He honestly did not want to argue on it, but felt as though he must keep speaking or his mind would fall to shambles. 

 

“What if you are to be penalized?”

 

“Then I will be penalized.”

 

“But what if you’re dismissed?”

 

“Enjolras.” Grantaire said firmly. “I’m not leaving you until you are to be torn away from me. Until that very last minute I intend to keep you in my arms.” Grantaire squeezed Enjolras’ middle. “I’m sure even a pox nosed knave like the Kitchen Master will understand, even if he does punish me for my absence. He may not even notice I am gone, with his eye down a rum bottle.”

 

Enjolras said nothing in reply, merely tilting his head into the crook of Grantaire’s neck and stroked his thumb over the cusp where Grantaire’s chin joined at his neck.

 

There was silence for a moment, until Grantaire spoke up. “What will happen to you now?”

 

Enjolras opened his mouth to reply when a sharp knock interrupted his train of thought. A cold dread ran through him and he bolted upright. Grantaire followed, placing a supportive hand upon Enjolras’.

 

They looked towards the window. The sun had not even started to set from its place in the sky.

 

“They are early…” Enjolras whispered, his insides freezing at the thought. “No. I... I am not ready. They cannot be early.”

 

“They were going to come no matter the time,  _ mon ange _ .” Grantaire replied, his voice catching. “Were you ever going to be ready? I would never have been, not to have you taken from me like this.”

 

Enjolras turned his gaze to look at the door. “What do I do now?”

 

Grantaire paused, and then spoke in a voice that made Enjolras’ heart sink; it was so broken and so defeated and cracked that Enjolras fully realised how truly horrible their lives were to be onwards. “You… You need to get dressed.”

 

Enjolras felt his legs quiver as he made to move. He withdrew from Grantaire and immediately mourned after his warmth and strength, but persevered anyway. He managed to get his trousers on without fail, but with shaking hands he found himself unable to work the buttons on his shirt. Grantaire must have seen him, as he was suddenly before him and helped, keeping Enjolras as close as he was able. Looking up at Grantaire with sad eyes, Enjolras drew a shaky breath and stood up on his toes to peck Grantaire’s lips for the last time, before making his way towards the door. He could feel Grantaire’s presence as he moved behind him and closed his hand around the handle. This was it, these were the last moments they were to be in the same confined space together, this was-

 

The door opened, and Enjolras let out a sigh of relief.

 

“Mes amis.” Enjolras breathed out. “It is only you.” 

 

Enjolras felt Grantaire’s presence relax behind him. He stepped back and turned slightly so that he was against Grantaire’s chest once more. His head leaned to lay it near Grantaire’s heart, and his lover’s hands were placed on his hips as they both looked towards their friends.

 

Staring back at them, at the front of the group, was Courfeyrac. He made no hesitation as he bounded over and threw them both into tight embrace. Grantaire huffed and Enjolras winced at the pressure of the hug. Despite the fact that Enjolras usually felt uncomfortable at the sudden physical proximity Courfeyrac had created he wrapped his arms around his back and pressed him gently. Though not his forte, he understood how importantly Courfeyrac regarded amicable contact.

 

Besides, he knew that he would garner appreciation for that one last affectionate action.

 

“Enjolras,” Courfeyrac wailed. “I can’t believe this is how we depart! I had always thought it would be because you had tripped and fallen off a barricade you had created in the kitchens, or being carted to the guillotine for finally snapping under your master’s thumb.”

 

Enjolras loosened his grip and held Courfeyrac at arms length, looking up at him he fixed him with a firm stare and could see the genuine concern behind his jubilant tone. Courfeyrac could no longer hold the smile he’d braved on his face . Enjolras looked past him towards the rest of his friends, still hovering uncomfortably by the door. Taking in their pained and worried expressions Enjolras realised with a start that he was pitied.

 

“Friends.” He said suddenly, regaining some of the fire that had left him since yesterday eve. He straightened his back and looked at them with steel in his eyes. “This is not goodbye, nor is this the end of days. This is yet another plan in which the council wishes to falter us and break our spirits. Our fight does not start and end with me. It most certainly will not finish here.”

 

He felt some of the tension in the air of the room dissolve as his friends finally broke their rigid stance at the door and piled inside the small room around him. Even when his own fate was in another’s hands he could not stand the thought of his comrades looking so broken and helpless. 

 

Towards the back of the group stood Combeferre, he looked slightly out of place amongst them, and was hanging at the back sticking closely to Joly. Enjolras was caught off guard by his presence; he could not recall a time he’d seen Combeferre descend from the medical ward, especially never down as far down as their chambers, but he was grateful for his company. Enjolras had often wandered up to the wards to visit Joly and he’d found a friendship in Combeferre purely by coincidence. His ideals and kind logic were unmatched and he’d often help Enjolras construct his arguments in a calmer manner.

 

Enjolras stood up straighter, and Grantaire took it as the sign that it was. He dropped his hands and let Enjolras go. Enjolras turned his head back to smile at Grantaire before walking over to Combeferre, Grantaire could not find the strength to return it. As he approached, he saw Combeferre straighten and Joly and Musichetta move away, almost to the other side of the room. Enjolras didn’t know what to think of this, so he merely continued towards the medic.

 

“I did not think you knew where the servant’s quarters were, my friend.” Enjolras spoke. “It pleases me that you came to say goodbye.”

 

“I could not leave it as it were.” Combeferre said kindly. “Besides, I have what I’m sure would be most welcome good news for you.”

 

Enjolras huffed, he doubted that any new information could lift his spirits. 

 

“Welcome news? What news could you have for me that would ease my future torment?”

 

Combeferre merely smiled. “You forget you have a friend who has some small influence in this castle. I was granted the good fortune of working in the higher towers and as such have come highly recommended.”

 

“I don’t understand.” Enjolras said furrowing his brow.

 

“I was taken aside this morning and told my duties have been changed. I have been assigned as the personal doctor to the King’s consort, and I shall assume that is you. Should you need any such medical attention you are to come straight to me.”

 

Enjolras felt a warming sensation sweep through his chest. 

 

“I shall make it my business to be quite ill, I’m sure.” He said gratefully, his voice catching slightly in his throat. He was not completely alone. It was a small but welcome breath of hope and he could use this to his advantage. Combeferre could be his contact with the rest of the group. A plan was already forming his mind. It would raise suspicion to often request his company however, he would have to think on this in more detail. But for now, there was a way to occasionally communicate with his friends and with Grantaire.

 

“We all got you something.” Cosette said suddenly her sweet voice breaking through Enjolras’ stream of thoughts. “I know you said this was not goodbye. But the tower is so high and it would be easy to forget us here down below…” She ducked her gaze slightly as she extended a hand with an item wrapped in stiff paper.

 

Enjolras squeezed her hand as he took it from her and smiled. “Never.” He said firmly. “Let me guess, Cosette; do I finally get a taste of one of your more luxurious pastries? The ones my Lord was never fond of?”

 

Cosette laughed, her morose smile both a blessing and a curse. “You know me well, your guess is correct. Hopefully the wait was well worth it.”

 

Enjolras nodded, having to avert his eyes from the unusually sad Cosette. “It will be, and I will remember you through each other delicacy from now on in. Do not think I could forget you so easily.”

 

He did not have enough time to contemplate Cosette’s reaction as before he knew it Courfeyrac was once again at his side, excitedly holding out a small bundle of fabric. Enjolras realised with a warm sense of appreciation that Courfeyrac was giving him his favourite woolen scarf, one of the only remnants from his childhood.

 

“Courfeyrac,” Enjolras breathed out in awe. “You are giving me this?”

 

“They can give you all the fine silks and garments known to man.” Courfeyrac said with a warm smile, his voice soft. “But there is no clothing more comfortable than this. For it was made with love.”

 

“There are no words.” Enjolras said his voice laced with a nostalgic glow as he remembered Courfeyrac from their childhood days in the castle. Running after his Lord with fumbling feet and too much enthusiasm, the red scarf bobbing behind him as he went, Courfeyrac had treasured the garment he had been given and wore it everywhere, and only stopped when becoming a squire meant he had to dress respectably. 

 

Once more he pushed past his own discomfort and gripped Courfeyrac tightly a sudden bubble of heat threatening to burst in his throat. He felt a sting at the corner of his eyes and had to shut them tightly to stop the tears from coming.

 

He heard Combeferre clearing his throat beside them and hastened to pull away from Courfeyrac, making sure he knew just how much his gift was appreciated before turning to Combeferre.

 

The medic was holding out a fabric bag, from which a floral scent emanated from it. “I’ve heard that these herbs when placed underneath a pillow can relieve headaches.” He started, maintaining a sense of professionality, which broke when Enjolras took a hold of it. “It also smells of roses, which I feel you’ll appreciate.”

 

Enjolras felt a slight heat rising in his cheeks. Combeferre had been his confidant in all matters Grantaire before they had gotten together and was the only one apart from Courfeyrac that he had told about their venture into the King’s gardens that fateful night. 

 

“Ah!” Courfeyrac said suddenly, his expression brightening from the understanding. Combeferre turned slightly towards him having the good grace to ignore Enjolras’ blush and gave Courfeyrac a small smile and nod.

 

“I’m sure I’m missing something.” Bossuet said shaking his head looking towards where Combeferre and Courfeyrac were sharing the same grin that one holds when a secret is shared. “But no matter, that is nothing new.”

 

“It is nothing, Lesgle.” Courfeyrac laughed. His smile was still forced, but it was brighter than before. “It just seems me and our new friend here have something in common already.”

 

“Friend?” Combeferre exclaimed. “I hardly think you can call me that, you know not much about me. Just yesterday you had never seen my face before, unless you had visited the medical ward and glanced me there but I know for a fact we have not conversed outside of the events yesterday. Are you always so forward?”

 

Courfeyrac smirked. “Oh, I just know that we’ll come to be… quite close.”

 

Enjolras watched as Courfeyrac cheekily winked and Combeferre turned a violent shade of pink. “I… Courfeyrac, yes? That’s hardly appropriate, is it?” He asked, his voice approaching less panicky and becoming slightly enamoured. “To presume that we will become… close, at this stage is frankly alarming.”

 

“What is it with you healers and panicking?” Courfeyrac teased, and walking closer to Combeferre and throwing Joly a wink. “Do not worry, my new friend, time will show I’m right.”

 

Combeferre cleared his throat, and averted his eyes away from him. “I have never met anyone with such a desire to become acquainted with so many.”

 

“I am friendly!” Courfeyrac laughed again. “I wish to know people, so I do.”

 

In the middle of the group, Bossuet laughed. “It is true, Combeferre. I had only worked in the stables for two days when our dear friend here bounded over to speak to me. It is only who Courfeyrac is. You’ll come to know that he is anything but  _ appropriate _ as well.” Bossuet smiled at the two, who were looking upon the other’s face, before turning back to Enjolras. Enjolras had a small smile upon his face at the exchange, but moved his gaze to the man walking towards him.

 

“Besides,” Bossuet laughed. “It is my turn to give my gift.”

 

From his pocket, Bossuet pulled out a small braided chain. For a moment Enjolras thought that it was made from some kind of golden hair and had a briefly humorous image of Bossuet constructing a wig. He realised suddenly when Bossuet held Enjolras’ wrist out and tied the chain loosely around it that it was made of a soft yellow hay. More than likely swiped from the stables whilst the stable master had his head turned. 

 

Feuilly stepped up to them as well. Enjolras saw a familiar determination in his eyes, the kind that he usually got when he was preparing to speak with the council. 

 

“We will right this injustice.” Feuilly said earnestly, he placed a small wood carving in Enjolras’ open palm. Enjolras felt a swell of pride and admiration in his heart as he looked down at the carving and saw that Feuilly had modeled it after a small bird, it’s wings spread wide in mid flight. 

 

“Thank you both.” Enjolras said, swallowing the hard lump that was quickly forming in his throat. It was persistent and would not leave.

 

Joly and Musichetta were still standing on the opposite end of the room from him, and although the room was small and cramped with them all inside, Enjolras couldn’t help but notice the distance that they’d placed between him. It was even more curious still when Joly looked at Musichetta with hesitation before hastily taking a step forward. 

 

“We need to beg your forgiveness.” Joly said gravely.

 

“Whatever for?” Enjolras asked furrowing his brow in confusion. 

 

“Yesterday when we heard the rumours that the King was to marry a servant… I… Mistakenly assumed the worst. I may have gotten carried away with my paranoid delusions of worry.” Joly said regrettably his eyes searching for Enjolras’ reaction. 

 

Enjolras had no idea there had been rumours that the King was to marry. If he had he would not had paid them any mind. He briefly raked through his memory searching for any kind of remembrance or hinting of hearing his fate without realising it but came up empty. It dawned on him suddenly that both of them looked guilty before him and he realised exactly what Joly was confessing.

 

“You have nothing to apologise for.” Enjolras said firmly placing a supportive hand on Joly’s shoulder. “Had I only been giving bits and pieces of information I too would have most likely leaped to the worst conclusion. Where our lovers are concerned it is easy to panic.” He said the last sentence quietly, so that only Joly could hear him, his eyes instinctively reaching Grantaire’s across the room.

 

Grantaire seemed to be fighting back an urge to do something. What that something was however, Enjolras was unsure. His expression, though shadowed in sadness and with lines set much too seriously for one that loved to laugh was otherwise unreadable. He remained quiet and still but his steady gaze said a million unspoken things to Enjolras.

 

“We have something for you.” Musichetta said softly and Enjolras forced himself to tear his gaze away from Grantaire. He removed his hand from Joly’s and automatically took the small bronze locket that she was holding out to him.

 

“I cannot take this.” He said all of a sudden once he realised just what it was. He tried to give it back but Musichetta closed his palm around it and held her hands to his, forcing him to hold onto it. “But… This was your present from your suitor in your courtship. It’s Joly’s promise to you.” Enjolras said seriously. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Bossuet on his left shifting his weight and fiddling with his hands.

 

“And now it is our promise to you.” Musichetta said her eyes brimming with tears. “We will not let you go so easily.”

 

Joly nodded his head vigorously in agreement. It was coming back to him now, the feeling of hope and possibility.

 

Joly looked as though he hadn’t slept, Enjolras was only just noticing the prominent circles underneath his eyes and the way his hair stood slightly on edge, as though he’d been running his hands repeatedly through it.

 

“I am glad it wasn’t you.” Enjolras said seriously to Musichetta. “It is better that I go through this. As you know I would be unable to hold my tongue if it had been anybody else. Especially one of you. It would probably result in a lot of needless chaos.”

 

Musichetta looked about to protest but thankfully Jehan took the opportunity to step forward.

 

“I’m afraid my gift is rather unorthodox. I hope you are not opposed to the art of spoken word.” He said flashing Enjolras an apologetic grin. “It is not something you can hold, but hopefully you do take it with you.”

 

Enjolras had a feeling that Jehan was far from finished speaking and gave him a slight nod, gesturing for him to continue.

 

Jehan took a deep breath before launching into his prose:

 

“ _ Almost as long as we have been _

_ Love has always been a constant _

_ Through memories of friendship and trust _

_ The future remains to be unseen _ _  
_ _ But to hold onto to such a concept _

_ Of justice amongst the settled dust _

_ There are depths in which we will not drown  _ __  
_ And walls that we must scale _ _  
_ __ Goodbyes are much too bittersweet

_ There may sit a throne and crown _ __  
_ But a new journey begins to blaze a trail _ __  
_ Our destinies are not yet complete _ __  
_ Your fate is not yet sealed _ _  
_ __ My friend; we we will rise for you. ”

 

There was a slightly stunned silence when Jehan had come to an end. The tips of his cheekbones had grown a tinge of pink midway through his poem and had only grown darker towards the end. Enjolras had never been one for poetry or music and a part of him felt lost amongst the words, but he couldn’t help but feel touched and inspired.

 

Like Courfeyrac, Jehan had a liking for physical affection and Enjolras graced him with a tight hug. Jehan was a little bit surprised by Enjolras’ movement but eventually recovered enough to wrap his arms around him and squeeze back. When they pulled away Jehan’s face was glowing a red as bright as fire.

 

“This is all too much.” Enjolras said, for he could not think of anything else to say. He turned towards Grantaire who looked immensely regretful amongst other things. 

 

He cleared his throat and looked up at the ceiling, caught in a compromising emotional state. 

 

“I did not know there would be presents exchanged or I would have prepared something other than my presence.” His voice croaked under the strain of holding back tears. 

 

He grabbed the knapsack that was sitting on their bed and closed the space between them. Brushing his warm hands against Enjolras’ as he took the items from his grasp and placed them carefully in the bag.

 

“We’ll give you time to be amongst yourselves once more.” Cosette said gently, leading Combeferre away by the elbow. 

  
They were about to reach the door when three consecutive thundering knocks made them freeze in their path. Enjolras, who had taken the knapsack within his grasp instinctively stepped forward and away from Grantaire. It was Feuilly who looked around uncertainly before opening the door.

 

Standing intimidatingly before them, were the two guards from yesterday.

 

Enjolras’ breath quickened, as he stole a glance to the window. The sun had only just started to drop in the sky. “I was given until this evening.”

 

“We have orders from the King’s council.” The first one said echoing his words from yesterday. “You are to come with us. Now.”

 

Enjolras was stuck to the spot, not even able to fathom words. “I…” He turned around to face Grantaire. It seemed the impulse that he’d been holding onto was no longer resistible. 

 

Grabbing Enjolras hand and holding it tightly he pulled their foreheads together, bending down to match their heights and grasping the back of Enjolras’ neck with his free hand.

 

“We’re not going to let them get away with this  _ mon ange _ .” He said, his tone was colder and fiercer than Enjolras had ever heard. Every syllable laced with venom and earnest. “We’re going to rescue you. This I swear.”

 

Enjolras felt Grantaire’s breath hot against lips, his hands were slightly shaking in Enjolras’ but he held on tightly and Enjolras felt a fear and hopelessness clutch at his chest. His gaze was so intense that Enjolras felt it could collapse walls and felt himself melt into it.

 

“Move.” One of the guards said to Feuilly who was blocking the entrance. Enjolras snapped suddenly out of Grantaire’s trance. He looked towards the doorway where Feuilly looked ready to stand his ground and fight and had to mentally tear himself away from Grantaire to intervene before he made a grave mistake.

 

“Feuilly.” He said firmly. He looked back towards Enjolras, obviously torn between complying and throwing a punch. Enjolras turned his attentions to the guards. “It is alright. I’m coming. You don’t have to enter”

 

Out of instinct to de-escalate the situation he let go of Grantaire’s hand and instantly felt the electricity of his touch leave him the moment their hands departed from one another. He realised with a panic that he did not say goodbye, and turned to rectify this. The guards must have mistook this for disobedience, for the moment he’d turned on his heel they roughly pushed their way inside and grabbed him by the crook of his arm.

 

“Wait, no, I haven’t said goodbye.” Enjolras said in a voice so quiet and soft that his friends could not recognise it. He felt a hand brush up against his back, trying to reach out to him and pull him back. The guards shoved him forwards and he began to struggle against their hold, gripping onto the knapsack tighter as he frantically shook. It was futile, he was being dragged away. “No! I haven’t said goodbye! Let me go!  _ Please, _ I will come with you, just let me say goodbye!  _ Please!  _ Grantaire, I need to say goodbye!  _ Grantaire! _ ”

 

He turned his head, and saw Grantaire step forward, genuine fear in his eyes. “Enjolras!” He exclaimed in a voice so broken that Enjolras felt his knees go weak. “ _ Enjolras! _ ”

 

“Grantaire!” Enjolras shouted in a frenzy. “Grantaire, I lo-”

 

He was cut off, the rest of the phrase muffled by the palm of the guard who had slapped his hand over Enjolras’ mouth. He began to scream, trying to say to no avail what he needed to. It was pointless. Even if they could hear him, no one could understand him. 

 

Courfeyrac, Combeferre and Joly were holding Grantaire back with all their strength as he pushed forward and tried to rush the guards.

 

“Grantaire!” Courfeyrac exclaimed in a desperate panic. “ _ Stop! _ They’ll kill you.”

 

“I don’t care!” He screamed, wrenching his arm away in a desperate bid to move forward. “I don’t care!  _ ENJOLRAS _ **_!_ ** ” His frantic yells echoed against the hallway walls as Enjolras’ form grew smaller and smaller, hastily being dragged away into the shadow until he became one with the darkness, and Grantaire could not see him anymore.

 

A choked sob escaped Grantaire’s throat, and he collapsed, his knees billowing and he slumped hard against Joly. 

 

“You let him be taken away.” He cried, his knees hitting the floor. “ _ I _ let him be taken away.”

 

“Grantaire, there was nothing you could do.” Combeferre said empathetically. “They would not have hesitated to impale you on their swords before you could even reach him.”

 

Grantaire had no words in response. He felt as though his breaths were drowning him and he could not steady them, though he was not trying to. He was sinking into the darkness and felt a horrible, crushing weight encase his entire body. He could not speak, he could not move, he could not breathe. 

 

There was nothing left inside of Grantaire except for three words repeating themselves in an endless, torturous melody.

 

_ I’ve lost him. I’ve lost him. I’ve lost him. I’ve lost him. I’ve lost him. I’ve lost him. I’ve lost him.  _

  
  
  
  


_ I’ve lost him. _

 

* * *

 

Enjolras had lost his energy and will to continue fighting against the guards halfway up the castle steps. The guard had removed his hand but Enjolras couldn’t even find it within himself to speak an insult. He let himself be dragged. Repeating the harrowed sounds of Grantaire’s yells in his mind. To think that that would be his last memory of Grantaire, in pain and anguish calling out his name it was too much for Enjolras to bear.

 

He let out a sob, as small as it was, when he heard a gasp. He brought his head up and saw he was being ogled at. The lords and ladies of the castle stepped out of the way, but all were staring at him in interest and judgement. The King’s consort, being dragged by the guards. He picked up his feet and began to walk, but could not help but shrink under the leers people gave him. He was...uncomfortable, and was more so with every whisper. Feeling vulnerable and broken was new to him, and it made his skin itch beneath the surface, as though he was not welcome within himself anymore.

 

Every floor they passed in the castle seemed to become more and more lavish as they walked onwards. The floors shined brighter and were made with finer tiles, the walls were covered in more of the royal dark blue and the rooms seemed larger and draped with oak and mahogany furnishings. They were nearing the King’s chambers, Enjolras could feel it. He felt his heart begin to palpate quickly in his chest and his throat became dry.

 

At the end of the hallway stood the tall, polished oak doorways. Intricately carved with beautiful symbols and adorned with large bronze handles. Enjolras felt his stomach drop at the sight of them. Beyond there must lay the King’s room and the guards were not slowing down. No, he could not sleep in the same quarters as him, he would not, he would never sleep in the same bed as that monster.

 

Just as he was about to try and struggle out of their grips once more they turned the corner just before the doors. He felt equally confused and relieved. The council chambers were in the opposite direction and he had never ventured this far into the castle before. The corner led to a winding staircase built of marble stone so narrow that the guards had to release him from their grip and push him forwards in order to climb it.

 

Taking the steps one by one he felt his heartbeat as he did so. The climb felt never ending and his head began to spin.

 

After what seemed like an eon, he reached a small hallway with a guard taking post outside a closed door. These must be his chambers, Enjolras realised, a room at the top of the King’s tower which would be a struggle for people to climb day to day. This was his confinement. 

 

Enjolras was pushed forwards by the two guards behind him, and he walked slowly to the door. He lifted his eyes and stared at the impossibly tall and muscular guard outside. Was he to be his guard? Enjolras glared at him, but to his surprise the guard gave him an encouraging smile past the fire that burned in his eyes. As he took another step forward, Enjolras cocked his head in confusion.

 

Under a breath, Enjolras could hear the guard whisper to him. “A tip.  Kings worry about a receding  _ heir _ line.” 

 

The guard shot him a quick wink before Enjolras disappeared into the room. Had he not been so consumed in his worries the pun would not have gone over his head. 

 

Enjolras stepped further into the horribly oversized chamber. It was at least ten times larger than the small chambers he shared with Grantaire.  _ Used to share  _ with Grantaire. His thoughts corrected themselves on his own and for a moment he faltered mid thought. Slowly stepping closer towards the bed he sat on the end of it, knapsack still clasped firmly in his grip. He found himself standing back up almost immediately after his rear touched the mattress. It was much too soft and much too large for just himself and he had almost sunk into it. He had only ever known the harsh cold floor and bedding made of straw. Bed’s were not supposed to sink beneath your touch. The covers were too soft and full, not rough and thin. They must have been silk or even satin, but too luxurious either way.

 

Backing away from the bed, his feet brought him to a large cabinet that took up almost an entire wall. He placed his bag on the long dressing table, his eyes wandering to the items spread across it. Oils, powder, what must be the cosmetics the lords and ladies used, rouge, a comb made from what appeared to be pearl, too much to count and too many to name. Some of the items Enjolras could not even identify. 

 

He picked each one up, not entirely sure what he was to do with them. He supposed that the items in the room belonged to him now but to have this many needless things seemed so surreal. The past week he struggled to find parchment for an affordable price and now beside him on a small writing desk was a surplus of delicately thin paper. It felt as though it could break apart at the slightest touch, the fact that there was no practical use for it other to decorate the room was maddening to him.

 

Enjolras looked around again, and decided to open one of the drawers of the dressing table. Once again, it was filled with luxuries Enjolras had never needed before, luxuries that could have bought him and the other servants proper meals. He grew angry at that thought, and his fists clenched. He slammed the drawer shut.

 

The callousness of throwing away the Kingdom’s funds on such frivolous items when there were servants struggling to eat and beggars in the village seized him like a chain and fury held him tightly in place. His fists were curled and shaking and he had subconsciously bitten his bottom lip to stop from yelling out. Unfortunately doing so had opened up the small split that the guards had caused the day before in the councils chambers and he tasted the sharp tang of iron on his tongue.

 

“I certainly hope that this is an upgrade from your last quarters.” The smooth and silky voice behind him caught him off guard.

 

He turned on his heel to face the King, standing in the doorway and looking expectantly at Enjolras. He was dressed a lot less lavishly then the last time Enjolras had faced him, simply in a long sleeved royal blue shirt and breeches, with a thick leather belt around his middle. He had forgone his surcoat but still had an excessive amount of rings and jewels bestowed upon him and of course his golden crown mocked Enjolras from atop his head.

 

Enjolras could not hold back anymore.

 

“An upgrade? How could it be such an upgrade when I suffer with the knowledge that this jar of oil could provide a meal, or this comb a bed. I look around and I am faced with such opulence that I am sickened to my very core. How is it that the people in the villages die of starvation in the streets, and I am told you have not the money to provide for them, but when you decide to pick a mere servant of you fancy you can suddenly produce, out of thin air, luxuries that could provide a whole village with food. You only think of yourself and your coveted treasures; your jewels, your cosmetics, your garments, they do not mean a thing to me. Your crown is at least worth what the servants eat in a year, if not five, and yet it remains on your head as a reminder of what they could have. This is not what I wanted, I had no wish of being thrust into a confined room and stripped away from the life I knew before. I would be more comfortable sleeping on straw and starving through the day for the rest of my life than spending another hour here. How can I simply stand here and look at what you have ordained this room with and smile, or thank you for what you’ve done? I have no gratitude for the events that have unfolded, nor will I ever be. 

 

“Know this, your majesty, I will never be happy if I am here. I do not even know why I  _ am  _ here in the first place, what delusion you must be under to think I am delighted with the situation. You have fooled yourself once more, if you feel I reciprocate any desire you have for me. Frankly, disgust is not a strong enough word for what I am feeling right now. I do not care that I have forgotten my place, you are disgraceful. If I am to be the King’s consort, then you are to know how vile you are. Please, I do not even wish to see you right now. Send me away for all I care, even the dungeons, how horrid they are, would be better than this mockery.”

 

The King stood at the door stunned as though he had been struck. Enjolras seethed, his blind rage coming down hard. His anger had blurred most of what he’d said together and he thought of the life that would lay ahead of him inside the dungeons.

 

“I had thought-” The King sounded perplexed but Enjolras heard no anger in his tone. “With the amount of times you’d come to my courtroom to see me... I only wished to shower you with luxuries so you could see I was not such a tyrant. If they are not to your liking…”

 

Enjolras for once was struck speechless. There was no anger or malice or insincerity in his tone in fact he sounded slightly embarrassed. Enjolras began to remember all the times that Grantaire had called the King a pawn to his councilmen, the amount of times Courfeyrac had joked about his intelligence and then suddenly; all the times the King had smiled at him or laughed during his courtroom visits. He had always assumed the King had been mocking his ideals and suggestions but now it seemed that he had a genuine interest in him.

 

“I’ve obviously made a mistake when I interpreted your intentions in coming to my courtroom.” The King continued, he took a step into the room and shut the doors behind them. For some reason the small gesture made Enjolras shift slightly. “But if anything the fact that you had only genuine intentions when you came into my courtroom only endears you to me all the more.” 

 

He smiled gently at Enjolras then and he couldn’t help but feel a smidgen of guilt for the harsh words he’d used in anger. Their basis still held a truth but perhaps he’d taken it a step too far in his presumptions of the King’s objectives.

 

“If you would allow it.” The King said stepping closer to him, his eyes scanning over Enjolras’ face. “I would court you for half a year. If you are still not convinced of my intentions and find me.. What was the word you used? Disgraceful? Disgusting? Vile?” Enjolras felt heat rise slightly to his neck feeling the full weight of his own words thrown back in his face. “Any of those things, really. We can call the arrangement off.”

 

“I do not understand.” Enjolras croaked, stepping further back. “You would so easily call this arrangement off in the future, but not now? You know I have no desire for you, why the courtship?”

 

The King smiled once more at him. “It would not be fair if you didn’t at least grant me a chance to prove myself to you. You could fall in love with me yet.”

 

The mental and emotional strain of the past few days was wearing Enjolras thin. His head was spinning and thumping and the King’s reaction had been so unexpected that he felt he could not think clearly. 

 

“I already have a suitor…” Enjolras said weakly, he was feeling his defences fall as his mind began to falter under his exhaustion.

 

The King extended a hand and touched at the blood on Enjolras’ lip, causing Enjolras to flinch away. The King’s hand remained touching his cheek as he used his thumb to wipe away the blood. Enjolras grimaced and moved away ever so slightly, but the King’s hand lingered for a second longer before he moved it away.

 

“A suitor who would treat your pretty face so unkindly?” He asked grimly.

 

“He would never!” Enjolras said offended. The King looked at him skeptically. “Your guards did this to me! The moment I objected to your proposal.”

 

The King not only looked shocked but also angered at Enjolras’ accusation. For a moment he thought the King would lash out at him, but instead he took Enjolras’ face in his hands once more and looked him straight in the eye.

 

“I would never ask them to do that to you.” He said seriously. Enjolras felt uncomfortable, the bands of the King’s rings pressed cold against his face and his face was much too close to his own. “You are much too treasured for me to harm you.”

 

He finally removed his hands from Enjolras’ face and stepped away from him. 

 

“Think on it.” The King said, judging by his tone he was seemingly disturbed by the revelation Enjolras had divulged. “You have a liking of criticising the servants living conditions. I truly hope this bed is enough to sooth your complaints for now. Perhaps a decent night’s sleep will begin to warm you to me. If you can think of anything else you need, merely ask. I have assigned you two of my best to be your personal guards. Bahorel is currently posted outside your door and has been instructed to grant you anything you need.” He flashed another smile towards Enjolras. “Within reason of course. We can’t have you running away on us.”

 

The door closed behind the King as he left Enjolras standing in the middle of the room, overwhelmed by emotional confusion. Mostly though, he felt sorrowful. He was not used to pessimism, and the brief interludes of it he’d been experiencing was draining him. He thought on Grantaire and wondered if he felt this way constantly. 

 

His thoughts stayed with Grantaire and he closed his eyes, letting out a long breath and crossed his arms, holding his forearms and steadying his balance.

 

He did not want to court the King, but it seemed as though he had no choice. The council had essentially told him that the marriage proposed was constructed for political gain, but it seemed that the King was genuinely charmed by him. He had mistaken their constant back and forth for a flirtatious game of cat and mouse and Enjolras thought on the way he’d argue with Grantaire when they’d first met as an excuse to talk to him and felt his stomach drop. Grantaire had seen through his thinly laced reasons to argue and the King had misinterpreted his genuine arguments for the same game. It seemed he had himself to blame.

 

Enjolras sighed rubbing his tired and stinging eyes and walked over to the bureau he’d placed his knapsack on. Picking it up and dumping the small amount of contents on the bed he supposed if he had to remain here he might as well make the room seem slightly like his own. He was about to take a much needed bite into Cosette’s pastry when a rolled up piece of parchment tied carefully with a red string caught his eye. He had not been given any such thing and he could not recall packing it.

 

He picked it up slightly hesitantly, the way his day had gone he had a right to be cautious. Slowly sliding the string off the parchment and unfurling it before him he felt his breath catch in his throat at the parchments contents. 

 

Laid out before him, sketched roughly in what Enjolras knew was stolen charcoal from the kitchens furnace was the most detailed picture Grantaire had ever drawn for him. One hand small and slender, the other large and calloused; entwined together. Enjolras felt the tears he’d been holding in slide hot and fast down his face. He had to take more than a moment to control his breathing and focus his gaze once more before he could read the small, rough and untidy inscription at the bottom right corner of the parchment.

 

Grantaire, being trained in the kitchens since a boy had never learned to write but Enjolras had been teaching him the past eight months. He was surprisingly a quick learner, and gave Enjolras his full attention in their lessons when not he was not distracted with his drawing. 

 

He brushed his fingers against the small “R” that he had signed at the bottom, lamenting the way Grantaire had curled the end of the letter, just the way he’d taught him to. He stared lovingly at the singular letter before moving his gaze to the inscription.

 

_ Mon Ange, _

 

_ Your head rests near my lap as I write this message, but sleep eludes me as I am overcome with the realisation that this may be the last time I lay with you in my arms. I guard the hope in my heart that it will not be. Enjolras, what a dreamer you have made of this cynic. Know this, I promise that you will forever hold my love no matter what events occur. I hope that I will hold yours. _ __  
_  
_ __ R

__  
_ P.S You would not let go of my hand all night. That makes drawing rather difficult. _ __  
  


_ Xx  _

 

Enjolras held the parchment close to his chest. Wiping away his tears and taking a shaky breath he made his way over to the window his tower held. It was much larger than the small hole he was used to looking out of and was facing the village down below. From this angle he could not see their chamber tucked deep below the castle. 

 

“You will hold mine.” Enjolras promised to the night, hoping beyond hope that somehow Grantaire knew this.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Grantaire was no longer on the floor. This much he knew, for his legs were hanging off the side of his bed but he had no idea how he’d moved there.

 

Outside the sun had long past set and he had certainly lost time. He realised suddenly that there were people on the bed beside him and the mystery of how he had made his way over began to become clear.

 

“Grantaire?” Bossuet asked tentatively. 

 

Grantaire made no response. He merely blinked rapidly and attempted to focus his vision. Everything hurt. His whole body ached and his eyes felt dry and raw as though he’d chafed them with a river of tears. He probably had but could not remember.

 

He felt dizzy and empty, as though somebody had taken every ounce of his being and bled it out of him all at once. It took a few more unmeasurable moments before he felt as though he could speak. He recognised the people on his bed now. Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta.  _ Of course _ , he thought to himself. His room was empty apart from them, the others had left long ago.

 

“Why aren’t you at your duties?” He finally said, or at least attempted to. His voice was so cracked and dry it sounded more like an odd mimicry.

 

“Don’t worry about that,  _ mon chéri. _ ” Musichetta said softly, brushing a loose curl behind his ear. “How are you feeling?”

 

He wanted to laugh at the ridiculous question but laughter was still too foreign for him at the moment. It seemed an impossibility. To laugh again, that concept was also ridiculous. 

 

She took his silence as an answer anyway and tightened the thin blanket he hadn’t realised he’d had around his shoulders. Joly shifted so that he could sit closer to him and Grantaire gratefully leaned his head into the crook of his neck, closing his eyes and releasing a long breath. He wanted to cry but was fresh out of tears. More than anything he wanted to sleep forever, to forget, to wake up from this horrible nightmare and have Enjolras wrap his arms around him.

 

Grantaire felt a pang to his chest at the thought of that. If he slept he would not wake up to Enjolras’ arms around him, he would not wake up to Enjolras at all. The thought was cutting him to pieces.

 

“I can not be alone tonight.” He said weakly into Joly’s shoulder.

 

“We know.” Musichetta said gently. She placed her hand along his back and gave him a small rub, warming him slightly and bringing back a tingling in his body he didn’t realise he’d been missing.

 

“You’re staying with us,” Joly said. “In the village. For as long as you need too.” 

 

Grantaire rubbed his head against Joly’s shoulder clasping his eyes shut as tight as he could. He didn’t know if he was shaking his head in disagreement or just needed to feel something against his face other than a harsh sting in his eyes. 

 

“I shall help you take him over and then I’ll return to my chamber.” He heard Bossuet say. His voice seemed so far away despite the fact that his hand was resting on Grantaire’s.

 

“Do not be foolish, Boss.” Musichetta said suddenly. “You’re staying as well.”

 

Grantaire could not recall the walk over to their place in the village, only that the wind whipped his face and the cold air stung his lungs. He realised vaguely that this was the first time he had stepped foot outside of the castle since he and Enjolras began courting. At first it had been for respect for his feelings and an act of solidarity for his beau. But then he found he had no need to leave when he had Enjolras to come back to every night. Suddenly life outside the castle walls was quite unappealing. 

 

Joly and Musichetta’s hut was small, but cosy. They did not have much in terms of a bed but they offered it to Grantaire anyway who flat out refused to take their kindness. Eventually they realised that he could be just as unmovable as Enjolras and let the issue go. Bossuet and he took the floor whilst Joly and Musichetta departed into the small bedroom. Even in his current floaty state he didn’t miss the longing gaze that followed them.

 

Eventually Bossuet’s deep breathing was replaced with soft snoring and the quiet of the hut began to sober him. He replayed the scene of Enjolras being dragged away again and again until it had warped itself into something even uglier and his mind had transformed his friends sympathetic looks into judgement and scorn. He ran his hands across his face a few times before standing up. He didn’t know what to do but he knew he couldn’t remain lying there with nothing but his traitorous thoughts. 

 

He paced the small kitchen a few times before the distracting light of the moon drew him to the windowsill. 

 

He had no idea which turret Enjolras had been placed in, his eyes drew themselves to the tower he knew the King’s chambers lay and he felt his chest constrict at the thought of Enjolras having to stay in the King’s quarters… In the King’s bed.

 

He tore his eyes away from it as though it had blinded him and ran his hands through his hair and hoped beyond hope that this was not the case. 

 

There were so many things he wanted to do for Enjolras, so many things they had yet to try and experience and enjoy. He had plans of using his small penance of savings to buy him a suitors promise one day. Why hadn’t he done that earlier? Why hadn’t he done that when they’d had time? Why had they spent so many days arguing before they got together? Why had it taken them so long to face their feelings?

 

There were a multitude of regrets and broken promises of a life they’d have together running through Grantaire’s mind. But one promise stood out. His last promise to Enjolras and he intended with every fiber of his being to keep it. 

 

_ You’ll forever hold my love _ . He thought desperately as he leaned his heavy head against his arms and began to finally drift off against the windowsill.  _ I’m going to rescue you. _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vivalamusaine:
> 
> This just in: Enjolras hates aesthetic. 
> 
> Also wow. 31 pages. Comments are always appreciated <3


	3. Your Loyal Companion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I do not believe you.” Musichetta said, her eyes showing a hurt beyond what Grantaire had ever seen her express. “You mean to tell me everything you said yesterday meant nothing? It was all empty words to you to ease the situation? To make it easier for yourself?”
> 
> Grantaire shrugged and turned away from her. “My words have always meant nothing. You should be aware of that about me by this point.” He said quietly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Caitlin's asleep! Quick let's throw an aesthetic party~~ -Athena

Something cold was pressed against Grantaire’s forehead and he awoke suddenly with a shiver running down his spine. A droplet streamed slowly down into his curls and he pushed the pressure that was upon him away. Opening his eyes he realised that Musichetta was kneeling before him, and palming a damp cloth to his head in an attempt to cool a fever he hadn’t realised had been plaguing him. Musichetta was looking down upon him with sad eyes, and the memories of the day past hit Grantaire like a bolt of lightning.

 

“Do not give me your pity, Musichetta.” Grantaire said bitterly as he pushed himself up onto his elbows and turned his head away.

 

“You were shouting in your sleep.” Musichetta said in a guarded tone, he could still feel her worried eyes on his back and felt oddly exposed and bare. “I feared you were suffering a fever.”

 

Grantaire found no words as reply as a cascade of emotions washed over him. It was as though he was reliving everything once more. Every single detail was flooding through his head. It was infecting every facet of his mind and he felt his heart begin to ache again. Staring out at the windowsill he’d fallen asleep at he saw the castle looming large and impressive in the distance. It’s very existence felt as though it was mocking him and he had a sudden desire to tear it down brick by brick. 

 

Grantaire suddenly rose to his feet much too quickly. Feeling white spots cloud his vision and a sudden dizziness take hold of him he reached out towards the wall to steady himself. 

 

“Grantaire?” Joly asked emerging from he and Musichetta’s small bedroom. “You are much too pale. Sit down once more.”

 

“No. I cannot wallow in despair for the rest of my days. It is maddening. My world is in shambles but the day proceeds as though nothing has changed. There are still pots to be scrubbed, onions to be cut,  _ Kings to be fed _ .” He said the last line with venom, his fist curling at his side.

 

“You’re continuing your kitchen duties today?” Bossuet asked in a shocked tone.

 

“Why would I not?” Grantaire said with finality. “If I were to stay in my chambers alone it would do my grief no favours, at least with the normality of my duties there is no time to think.” He paused. “I need to return so that my waking moments aren’t completely consumed by the void created by what I have lost.”

 

“Grantaire,” Joly said softly. “You should give yourself more time-”

 

“I have all the time in the world to pity myself, Joly. There is work to be done.”

 

Joly looked at Bossuet in desperation, who in turn faced Musichetta in a silent plea. She merely sighed, and ran a hand through her hair. “We cannot stop him if he wants to work, but I do wish, Grantaire, that you would listen to us.”

 

“When have I ever?” Grantaire replied attempted to throw his usual nonchalantness back into his tone. It only served to give him more pitiful looks.

 

Before they could protest his decision once more he threw the door open and walked briskly towards the castle, keeping his eyes down from the blinding sunrise peaking up from the horizon. He could hear the three behind him, struggling to catch up and calling out for him to slow down, but he continued onwards, ignoring them and everything his mind was shouting at him.

 

Musichetta caught up with him whilst the others lingered behind. She shot him an annoyed look before sighing and shaking her head.

 

“You cannot help us with our morning duties. We have a system, I am afraid you will merely stand to get in the way.”

 

“Then let me stay in your company and watch.” Grantaire said, a hint of pleading in his tone. 

 

She looked at him carefully and seemed to be in deep thought for a moment. 

 

“Just promise you will not cause any trouble.” She said with a sigh.

 

Grantaire knew better than to promise her something that he would more than likely not be able to follow through with, and instead chose to pretend he didn’t hear her.

 

Walking into the kitchens so early seemed strange. There was not the usual bustle of bodies and noise that he usually associated with the room. At this time of morning it was only Musichetta and a few younger servant helpers to prepare the King’s meal. Grantaire placed himself upon the countertop as they began to bring ingredients from the pantry and lay them out before them. It was going to be a long morning of waiting and watching before his actual duties started. Given the haste and precision in her movements he gathered that her earlier warning was correct, and his interference would provide more of a hinderance to her than a helping. 

 

“Is it always this quiet?” He asked her, picking up a large dish and cradling it in his arms for no reason other than to have something to hold. 

 

“It does not last long. As soon as the Kitchen Master arrives-”

 

“Don’t just stand about! Haven’t you got serving to do?!” They heard a rough and loud voice cry from the halls.

 

“Speaking of the devil…” Musichetta said with a sigh. 

 

Grantaire hastily hopped off the countertop and placed the dish to one side. Even though he was not anywhere near his usual time of starting work, he always felt compelled to do something in the Kitchen Master’s presence. The last thing he wanted was for the man to say he was in the way or causing disruptions and to send him back to his cold and empty chambers. 

 

Entering the room however, the Kitchen Master did not at all look surprised to see him.

 

“Why are you just standing around? Get to it. There’s work to be done.”

 

Confused and irritated Grantaire gave him a look. “I’m merely here for company. I’m yet to start for hours still.”

 

“Do you think I would send a squire for you so that you could just stand around and have a laugh? Did that idiot boy tell you nothing?”

 

“No squire was sent for me. I came by my own free will.”

 

The Kitchen Master made an annoyed grunting sound. “You have no free will here, boy. I’ve sent squires around the castle and into the villages for all the staff. The King’s demanded a fine feast to woo his new consort so get working before I have your  _ head _ !”

 

Grantaire had not expected such a blatant mention of Enjolras, although he was not sure why he had expected anyone to dance around the matter. His stomach dropped and his chest was growing tight and he felt the memories and emotions from the night before flood back to him.

 

He could not do this. He did not know why he thought he could do this. 

 

Suddenly the thought of preparing meals for the King and Enjolras to share together conjured up cruel images of them laughing with each other, sharing meaningful glances and soft expressions. Grantaire could not prepare the meals that would be used to woo his lover. 

 

Pushing past the Kitchen Master, he ignored his angry bellowing and Musichetta’s worried callings of his name as he fought back tears once more and fled. He let his feet carry him, no destination in mind and no idea of what he was doing. All he knew was that he had to get away, far away. Away from this castle, away from the King, away from the painful memories of Enjolras and the crushing fact that he was no longer his.

 

* * *

 

Enjolras awoke feeling as though death itself was wrapped around his chest. This time there was no brief peaceful occurrence of blissful forgetfulness of the events that passed. The moment he awoke he knew exactly where he was and why and felt an awful sense of foreboding clutch his heart tightly and strangle his breath. 

 

His eyes felt puffy and sore and he turned on his back to face the lavishly painted ceiling above him. His limbs ached as he uncurled himself, having fallen asleep upon the sheets in a tight ball.

 

Looking out the window he saw that the sun was halfway to the sky, usually waking before it rises Enjolras felt a strange guilt of time wasted envelop his head and shut his eyes once more. Lamenting in the memories from the night before, in a bed as unfamiliar as his new surroundings, Enjolras could not have been more upset and wished for nothing more than for something,  _ anything _ to take him away from his own accusing thoughts.

 

A sharp knock on the door outside forced him to sit up suddenly. Enjolras took a moment before stretching his limbs, which protested in agony, and standing up. Looking back at where he slept, he smoothed out the sheets towards the foot of the bed so it seemed untouched once more. 

 

Walking tentatively over to the door, he made sure to flatten down his hair before opening it wide. Waiting patiently outside for him stood a young squire in training. He looked mildly terrified at the sight of Enjolras and sank into bow so low that the ridiculous hat upon his head that could rival that of Jehan’s own stylings fell to the floor.

 

“You should not have to open the door for me, sir.” The squire said in a squeaky voice. “Simply yell  _ ‘enter _ ’ when you are ready next time and someone will do it for you.”

 

Enjolras frowned at him. “Why on earth would I require somebody to open the door for me?”

 

The boy seemed lost and pretended not to hear him. “The King requests you join him for brunch! If you will be so kind as to follow me to the dining hall, he would like to receive your company.”

 

Enjolras looked down at himself. He was still wearing the old serving clothes he had hastily thrown on the day before. He quickly looked around the room for another outfit but found nothing.

 

The squire seemed to notice his predicament, and piped up. “There should be a robe in the chest of drawers, sir.”

 

Enjolras nodded, and made to go over to the drawers. However the squire, who had fumbled his way into the room, moved quicker and started searching them for him. He soon pulled out a robe in the royal blue of the kingdom made with the finest material he’d ever seen. Enjolras sighed slipping it carefully onto his shoulders. Despite the robe providing him a much needed outer warmth, Enjolras felt cold and empty wearing the royal colours.

 

Enjolras stood still, not exactly knowing where to go.

 

“Sir? The King is waiting for you within the dining hall.” The squire said tentatively.

 

Enjolras had been inside the dining hall almost every night since he could remember. But he had always been there to serve his Lord, he had never gone to there to eat. The concept faltered him. “Uh… right. How do I get there from here?”

 

The squire looked at him perplexed. “Your guard will escort you there and everywhere you need to go. He knows the way well.”

 

Enjolras quickly stole a glance outside the door, expecting to see the guard from the night before but was faced instead with the surly and unfamiliar face of an older man with a scar on his brow.

 

“What happened to the other one?” 

 

“Sir?”

 

“I… Never mind.” Enjolras said with a sigh. His head was already begin to pound relentlessly. “Lead the way I suppose.”

 

The squire departed from them as the guard wordlessly strode by Enjolras’ side. His legs however, were much longer than Enjolras’, and Enjolras had to practically jog to keep up. He debated asking the guard to slow down, but one look upon the guard’s face ruled it out. He did not look pleasant enough to start conversation.

 

By the time Enjolras reached the doors of the dining hall he was slightly out of breath. The guard took post outside the door and waited there, whilst Enjolras remained standing confusedly outside. 

 

“Uhm. Do I just go in?” Silence. “Oh, okay then.” 

 

Enjolras took a deep breath, before walking through the doors. He was determined to keep his head held high despite the high level of discomfort and anxiety he was feeling.

 

Despite there being no physical changes to the look of the dining hall, entering it from the main entrance doors and not from the servants entrance felt so unfamiliar to Enjolras that for a second he believed himself to be in the wrong room. Then his eyes adjusted.

 

Standing proudly next to the table, was the King and before them spread upon the table was a myriad of dishes; piling high on the table and filling it to the brim.

 

The table was long and built to accustom the company of many lords and ladies, but it seemed as though it was only the two of them and a few serving Squires in the room. He saw from the corner of his eye one of the kitchen staff leave through the servants doors and for a moment his heart felt a pang of hurt when he realised that Grantaire had probably been asked to make the feast he was about to partake in.

 

“Is this all for me?” Enjolras asked uncertainly. There was no feasible way he could be expected to eat a meal that looked like it was made for a dozen.

 

“It’s for us.” The King corrected. 

 

His voice was kind and soft and Enjolras felt although his intentions may have good, the extravagant amount of food that would be put to waste and surely thrown aside once they had barely touched it was a travesty.

 

Enjolras remained still as he watched the King approach him, instinctively leaning back when he arrived in front of him. It was if his stomach was constricting when he felt the King take his right hand into his own, a wave of nausea overcoming him. The King’s hands tightened around his as he held it; they were of a similar size to Grantaire’s but the way he was holding his hand was different and wrong, all  _ wrong _ . 

 

The sickly feeling only seemed to increase as the King bent down to kiss his hand.  Enjolras was caught slightly off guard, expecting him to lean down and kiss his knuckles as Grantaire had done many times before. Instead however, the King slowly twisted his palm towards him and pressed his lips against his wrist

 

It lasted only a moment, but Enjolras was suddenly far from hungry. He didn’t know why he felt so off-put by the King’s touch, as he had retreated back to his chair and had been more than courtly, not lingering longer than necessary or pushing Enjolras’ boundaries. He supposed with a heavy heart that it was the guilt he associated with another’s touch. His body and heart still belonged to Grantaire in his mind, and having another disregard that, no matter how innocently, sent horrible shockwaves of shame through him.

 

“Please, sit!” The King said with a wide smile, gesturing at the empty chair opposite him.

 

“Do you expect me to eat this much food?” Enjolras asked uncertainly as he took his seat across from the King.

  
The King let out a loud laugh. “No, no. I merely did not know what your preferences are, so I had the kitchen staff make one of everything!”

 

“And what of the food that we do not eat?”

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

“The food that we will not touch. What do you do with it?” Enjolras pressed. “Do you let the serving staff that slaved over it have the remains?”

 

The King’s smile faltered slightly as he seemed to be pondering Enjolras’ question.

 

“I suppose I’ve never given it a second thought. I assume it is merely thrown aside.” He smiled once more. “This is why I need you by my side. You have seen the things I do not even think about.” The King clapped his hands twice in succession and one of the Squires standing in the corner of the room ran over to his side.

 

“Your Majesty?”

 

“Have the food that we do not have use for go to my loyal staff members. That includes yourself and the other Squires.”

 

“You are much too kind, your Majesty.” The Squire said, bowing low before retreating back to his place on the other side of the room.

 

The King smiled at Enjolras expectantly. “Now that that business is taken care of- let us eat!”

 

Enjolras snapped out of an almost dazed like state at the last proclamation. He could hardly concentrate, he felt as if he had just experienced whiplash. Was he concussed? Had the guards hit him harder than he thought? Did the King just immediately act on what Enjolras suggested?

 

What was going on?

 

The King was looking at him with concern on his face. “You are not eating. Is there… Something wrong with these dishes?”

 

“I-” Enjolras faltered. “I fear you are making an assumption in that I have tried many of these dishes, or that I eat much at the beginning of the day. A meal for me would likely be the scraps of that one bowl of soup I see.”

 

“Oh, but this is perfect!” The King said delightedly. “If you’ve never had the pleasure of trying these foods I can truly give you an experience to remember.”

 

“I- Okay.” Enjolras stammered, the King obviously missing the message he was trying to convey. Enjolras decided suddenly that it wasn’t worth the trouble of explaining, and that if he was going to survive this he would have to choose his battles carefully. He could elaborate at a later time.

 

“The dish on your left is a personal favourite of mine. Try it first with a pastry. If you are as enamoured with it as I am it would make me quite joyous.” The King said excitedly, his eyes danced over Enjolras before he ducked his head bashfully and an embarrassed smile brushed his lips. “And for what is is worth- I have never seen you wear such a deep colour. I always had an inkling that you would look ravishing in our Kingdom’s blue. I am overjoyed to see that I was right.”

 

Enjolras felt heat rise to his cheeks as he looked away from the King and busied himself serving the dish he recommended. He gave himself the smallest portion he could. “Thank you.” He said politely, before hesitating for a brief moment. “Your Majesty.” He added quickly.

 

“Please, there are no need for such formalities, you are to be my Consort after all. Call me by name; Villenc.”

 

“Villenc…” Enjolras said, trying the name out on his tongue. It felt weird and unnatural. Being taught from birth not to call a King anything but by their title was going to take some time before it was undone in Enjolras’ mind.

 

“Villenc Henry Leroy Bourneville the Fifth.” The King said proudly as he began to pile different arrays of food upon his own plate. “I have only ever known you by one name.”

 

“I’ve only ever known myself as one name.” Enjolras said with a shrug. “The Lord’s refer to all servants by their last names, and I never bothered to know what my birth name was.”

 

Enjolras took a bite into the dish that had been recommended to him, and as much as he wanted to hate it with every fibre of his being he couldn’t help the pure taste of ecstasy that washed over his tastebuds as the meal melted in his mouth. The look must have shown on his face as the King gave him a pleased smile. 

 

“You like it?”

 

“It’s… Sweeter than I expected, and a lot less chewier than it looks. I do.” Enjolras said honestly.

 

“I’m afraid I have a weak spot for all things sweet.” The King said softly looking into Enjolras’ eyes. “It is my one downfall.”

 

Enjolras felt his head spin again at the intent behind the King’s words and without knowing what to say, instead decided to take another bite of the food before him.

 

After finishing his plate, for the first time in a very long time Enjolras found himself full. Placing his utensils down, he moved his eyes back towards the King who was already finishing his second dish. He didn’t appear to be even half full.

 

The King looked up from his meal and smiled at Enjolras. Then his eyes slowly moved down his body, until he glimpsed Enjolras’ finished plate. “You have not eaten much. If you are done with that dish, I also rather enjoy the dish to the right of the water jug. It’s also rather sweet.”

 

“That is okay.” Enjolras replied. “I am quite full.”

 

“How?” The King asked incredulously, laughing. “You have only had a mere morsel. Although the thought is nice, I hope you are not refraining from eating on my behalf.”

 

“I’m not used to eating in the morning. I am honestly completely satisfied.”

 

The King smiled at him again. “Were you that determined to serve your Lord that you would miss meals?”

 

“Actually,” Enjolras said feeling is anger rising at the King’s blissful ignorance. “The servants don’t get enough rations to eat at any given time they choose.“

 

“Oh.” The King paused. “I see.”

 

“In fact, they barely get enough for a decent meal in the morning. I am unused to eating in the mornings as I normally give up my scraps to people who need them more. It’s an issue I have mentioned frequently.”

 

“Forgive me. I suppose I was merely distracted by the vision beset before me. I must admit my mind strayed occasionally whenever you tried to see me.”

 

Enjolras did not know what to say. He was frustrated but once again reminded himself to pick his battles wisely. The King had already promised the servants the leftovers from today, that was a temporary solution for now, at least. At a later time he would change that, but to do so he would have to keep his head.

 

The King moved to speak again when one of his advisors promptly entered the room, approached the King and proceeded to whisper something in his ear. The King waved him away with the back of his hand before sighing and turning to Enjolras.

 

“I’m afraid I am needed in the courtroom. A shame, as I would love to spend more time in your company. If you would pardon my abrupt departure, we can talk more at dinner.”

 

Enjolras felt slightly guilty as a relief that this was over washed over him, he did not know how much longer he could have held his tongue.

 

“Where do I go, now?” He asked uncertainly.

 

“Your guard will escort you back to your chambers. You needn’t worry about serving Lord’s or running yourself off your feet today. Or if my wish is granted, for the rest of your days. The day is yours to do as you wish within your chamber.” The King said rising from his chair and giving Enjolras a curt bow. His departure left Enjolras alone with the Squires, who hurried forward to clear the table.

 

Enjolras hoped they would follow the King’s orders and share the food amongst the servants, and allowed himself a few minutes to merely sit and watch the commotion before moving to leave.

 

He exited the dining hall and began the walk back to his chambers. The guard was just as unforgiving and ruthless in his strides as before, Enjolras having to keep at a fast pace to stay by his side. He decided upon climbing the marble steps to his chambers that he did not like this guard much at all and mulled over what he had just endured; the King’s infatuations, the food, the feeling in his stomach, the longing he felt for Grantaire. 

 

Muttering his thanks when they reached the entrance to his chambers, he stepped inside and practically sighed in relief that the ordeal was over for now. He opened his eyes and took a good look around, this room, these things, this life. It was not his. This was not what he wanted.

 

* * *

 

Striding straight towards the bar, Grantaire threw the only coins he had in his pocket down upon the counter. 

 

“The strongest ale you have for the cheapest price.” He told the dark haired bar-maiden who eyed him oddly before tapping the barrel closest to her right and sliding him a freshly poured mug and leaving him his change.

 

“You know the fastest way to become inebriated is often in another's company” She said, a knowing smile spreading to her lips as she jumped casually across the counter and took a seat beside him.

 

“I’m not looking for company” He told her coldly as he turned his body away from hers, taking a generous gulp. He may not have Enjolras in his bed anymore but he intended to remain loyal to him, no matter how low he sank. He had promised himself this.

 

She laughed lightly as she leaned across the counter to pour herself an ale.

 

“Do not misinterpretate my intentions. I merely know too well the look you have upon your face. You’ve ordered a cheap but strong ale, you’re drinking before the day has even begun, your tone is bitter yet full of regret. You are heartbroken. Usually it is only I who receives pity glances from our patrons, but it seems as though you have stolen my moment. I have an open ear if you’d like to lend me your sorrows.”

 

Grantaire downed the rest of his drink before thinking on her proposal. 

 

“If it makes any difference to you sir, my name is Éponine. Your secrets are safe with me. I do not have anyone to tell them to.”

 

Grantaire frowned at the barmaid across from him. Taking a closer look at her she did indeed seem genuine in her request. She had sad eyes but a determined expression, and had already downed her drink before Grantaire had seriously considered her.

 

“You really want to hear my tales of woe?” He asked her in a guarded tone. 

 

“‘Tis better than stewing in my own woes,” She replied pouring herself another ale and topping off his own. “You see there is a poor Squire who does not return my love. Now he has moved onwards and found employment in the castle after mercifully rejecting my advances. It seems he sees me as a confidant and nothing more. Nonetheless my heart still aches for him, no matter how simple his mind or how soft his heart. This is not my tale to tell though, I believe you owe me a tale of heartbreak and regret?”

 

Grantaire decided in an instant that he trusted the barmaiden and made note to remember her name.

 

“I suppose we must start with my beloved…” He said as he took another tentative sip of ale.

 

“So you had a beloved in the first place.” The harsh but fair Éponine laughed. “At least you were granted such a fortune.”

 

“A fortune perhaps, but one stolen away from me.” Grantaire continued glumly.

 

As he drank more and more his words became slurred and angry, his tale forming in clearer and more abrupt tones. Éponine it seemed, was true to her word, and remained a good listener. While she matched him in drinking she also honoured him in her reactions. His story was well told under her attentive gaze, he found himself a friend who matched his sorrows and told him her own in exchange. There is nothing more comforting for misery than the company of another miserable soul.

 

By the time the bar was packed, she remained drinking with him whilst serving the other patrons, and it was there that Musichetta found them; laughing at some old forgotten joke as though they had been friends for life.

 

“I feared the day you two would meet.” Musichetta said under her breath. “Éponine, you promised me you’d attempt to stop drinking during your shifts.”

 

Éponine threw back her head and fell backwards against Grantaire’s shoulder. Her laugh was  incandescent and airy. 

 

“Chetta, you try being under the employ of the likes of my family. Without a drink I would have to resort to murder in it’s stead! You should know more than anyone I do not get a rest from this hell hole. If I stopped drinking while I was working I would have to stop all together!.” She said, her words carrying a bite behind the playful tone.

 

“That is not the worst thing in the world, ‘Ponine” Musichetta replied coldly. She fixed her attention upon Grantaire who was laughing uncontrollably at something Éponine had whispered in his ear. “You know the Kitchen Master is asking for your head? I had to pull a lot of favours to prevent your dismissal. I looked for you for hours in the castle, I should have known to find you here instead.”

 

“Oh, Musichetta,” He practically sang, the liquor on his breath making him sway slightly as he attempted to rise to his feet. “You should have let me be dismissed. Clearly I am to remain a bum of a peasant from here on out. Your interfering is merely preventing the inevitable. You see I am clearly incapable of moving past this. It is hopeless to try. Perhaps if I move on towards another Kingdom they can accost me as their fool. I am clearly suited to a role such as that.”

 

“Another Kingdom?” Musichetta said taken aback. “Grantaire, would you forget your promise to Enjolras so quickly? What of helping him? What of waiting for him? What of rescuing him?”

 

Grantaire breathed in sharply through his teeth.

 

“Rescue him?” He asked in an almost breathless tone. “Musichetta, I have been stripped of everything I love. I have had the only thing I’ve ever believed in taken away from me by sheer force. I’ve been told countless times that this situation is in no means in my control and I have been forced to accept that any attempt to change our fate would be fatal to us both. If anybody needs rescuing in such a situation it is not Enjolras, it is I.”

 

“Hear, hear!” Éponine chanted as she saluted her glass towards Grantaire and skulled it down. Wiping the remnants from her mouth on the back of her hand. “As I said to you before my newfound friend, you are the victimised one in all of this”

 

“I do not believe you.” Musichetta said, her eyes showing a hurt beyond what Grantaire had ever seen her express. “You mean to tell me everything you said yesterday meant nothing? It was all empty words to you to ease the situation? To make it easier for yourself?”

 

Grantaire shrugged and turned away from her. “My words have always meant nothing. You should be aware of that about me by this point.” He said quietly 

 

Musichetta shot them both a contemptuous look before turning on her heel and striding out the door.

“Ah…” Éponine said looking regretful. “You may have just lost me the only friend I hold dear.”

 

“Not to worry.” Grantaire said in a bitter tone downing the rest of his glass. “You have myself now. You can hold me dearly or in contempt but know you have my company.”

 

It seemed as though Musichetta was not finished, as not long after she returned with Joly and Bossuet trailing hesitantly behind her. She said something under her breath to Joly before he looked upon her skeptically and patted her hand in comfort, walking over to join Grantaire in the seat beside him.

 

“She is telling you nothing but truth.” Grantaire said before Joly could open his mouth. “I meant every word I said to Musichetta and I will tell you the same.”

 

“I fail to see how doing this to yourself is helping Enjolras.” Joly said ignoring his words, his brow furrowed. He swept his glance upon Grantaire’s pitiful figure. “Or for that matter, you.”

 

“My friend it does the only thing it can. It numbs the hurt.” Grantaire replied, his glass was well empty but he tried to down the last remnants anyway.

 

Bossuet had found his way somehow on the other side of Grantaire. He looked disgusted with him. In all honestly Grantaire could not really blame his look of distaste. He was feeling quite the same about himself and he was sure the pit of uneasiness in his stomach was not entirely due to the ale.

 

“You’re drinking yourself to death whilst your lover is waiting for you with promises of rescues and help dancing in his head. You think he has forgotten as quickly as you have? You are one of the lucky ones my friend, to find somebody you love who loves you in return and you are to throw this away so suddenly? Do you really place more importance on your own self pity than on your lovers safety? Than on your own word? Grantaire what on earth are you doing? You promised Enjolras that you would do everything in your power to free him of the King. If I loved as strongly as you for somebody who returned my own affections I would not so quickly abandon my promises.”   
  


“Do not talk to me as though having an unrequited love is the same as having your companion ripped away from you, Bossuet. This is pain that greatly unmatches whatever hurt you feel from dismissed adoration. You have no idea what this pain is, and as somebody who is not enamoured by another you never could.” Grantaire snapped, glaring at him defiantly before adding in an undertone. “Perhaps if you stopped with your cowardly umming and ahhing you’d know the feeling.”

 

He realised once the words were out of his mouth that perhaps he had ventured too far, for a strange look passed over Bossuet’s eyes and his lips thinned in anger. Grantaire awaited the well deserved lecture he was surely about to receive, but instead Bossuet merely rose from his seat and looked towards Joly.

 

“Come, Joly,” He said, his voice low in hurt and what appeared to be betrayal. “He is clearly a lost cause.”

 

Joly kept his eyes hard and upon Grantaire as he gestured for Bossuet to wait where he was. Bossuet did so hesitantly, clearly ready to leave there and then.

 

“I know you are hurt right now,” Joly said carefully, it was evident that he was struggling to keep his tone steady. “But you will not speak to our dear friend in such a manner and you will not take your grievances out on us when we are trying to help. Apologise.”

 

Grantaire tried to make an argument but found his words fail him. Letting his shoulders fall and his pride vanish he looked towards Bossuet.

 

“I am sorry Bossuet.” He said with a defeated sigh. “You were merely trying to help a helpless man. It is not your fault that he is also a tactless brute.”

 

“Tactless perhaps,” Bossuet said begrudgingly as he leaned against the bar. “But you’re only serving to placate yourself if you still believe that this is helpless.”

 

“If the situation was reversed and Enjolras was leading us then I would agree with you. There would be some way out of this.” Grantaire sighed again and looked at the bottom of his empty glass, swirling around a few droplets of condensation before placing it back upon the counter with a loud thunk. “But he’s not here anymore. He cannot lead us. Who is supposed to take the charge? Me? I made him a promise that I am incapable of carrying out. Even if I had the means to do so who would rally behind the broken call of a desperate man who has so often said that rallying is helpless? Who would even grant me the time of day to hear me out?”

 

“We would,” Joly said earnestly placing his hand firmly upon Grantaire’s shoulder. “You’re not going to do this alone. And you’re forgetting that Enjolras helped so many, a cry to help him no matter who voiced it would not go ignored. We can work out the details of who can do what along the way, currently though it’s important that we act fast. The sooner we can start a plan on how we’re going to rescue him the more time we have to perfect it.”

 

“Rescue him?” Grantaire scoffed suddenly, his hand clinging tightly to the glass. “From what pray tell? A lifetime of feasts and brunches delivered to his doorstep? Of jewels and gifts and adoring words? Of servants higher than I answering his every beck and call and ensuring his happiness? Bringing him back to me would mean denying him the things I cannot afford to give him. The things he deserves to have. He does not need me and he does not need rescuing.”

 

Joly sat back slightly in his seat and eyed Grantaire. 

 

“You do not mean a word of that. You’re merely letting your insecurities control your speech and your actions. If I believed for one moment that you thought that that was truly the life Enjolras’ wanted then I would not be here beside you.”

 

Grantaire struggled to get his words out, he looked towards Éponine for help but she was busy preventing a squabble from breaking out between two patrons. He turned instead to Bossuet who looked weary with Grantaire’s ramblings and once again seemed on the verge of leaving and finally to Joly once more- who was looking expectantly at Grantaire with such intensity that it was as though he was being completely exposed by his knowing eyes.

  
Grantaire could not help it; he broke all so suddenly and became undone. 

 

“I know in my heart that he does not want that life. I know that currently he is more than likely torn up beyond belief and is equally unhappy. But how…? How am I supposed to keep such an impossible promise? Joly, it is  _ I _ . I am not a revolutionary, I am not some shining prince in armour ready to scale a tower and fight an army. How am I supposed to take on a King and win? I was taken by anger and felt that I could destroy the world when I made him that promise. I was not in my right mind. My friend, this is myself that we are discussing. How am I supposed to be this? I am nothing and I have left my lover waiting for an impossible rescue. If the tables were turned the King’s head would already be upon a pike and yet here I sit drinking and wallowing in self pity because it is the only thing that I know how to do well.”

 

Joly’s hard look softened as he reached his hand across to Grantaire’s and held it in comfort. 

 

“Grantaire, you are more than capable. I believe in you. We believe in you. But most importantly, Enjolras believes in you. You’re forgetting once more that you do not have to do this alone. The sooner you get up from your sorry state the sooner we can begin to form a plan.”   
  
“We?” Grantaire asked hopelessly.   
  
“They’re all waiting for you.” Bossuet said earnestly. “We were all gathered in the servants quarters ready to begin. All we need is our leader.”

 

Grantaire scoffed bowing his head. “I am not a leader.” He said once more.

 

“Not acting like this you’re not.” Joly said firmly. “But you will be.”

 

“Enjolras should be our leader.”

 

“But he can’t be. So  _ you _ have to be.”

 

“I am done here. You can go around in circles all night if you desire,” Bossuet said standing up. “But we’re going back to the quarters to actually do something about this and begin to help Enjolras. Are you coming or not?”

 

Bossuet looked at him with his face set in determination as Joly too rose from his seat and gave him another expectant glance. Grantaire looked towards his empty glass and drew out a long and low sigh. In the corner of his eye he saw Musichetta hesitantly walk towards them.

 

Grantaire took a deep breath before drawing himself up to full height and rather unsteadily rising to his feet. “For Enjolras, I can be anything.”

 

Joly broke his stern resolve and replaced it with an appeased smile. Bossuet rolled his eyes at him, but still gave him a small smile and clapped him on the back. Musichetta let out a relieved yet frustrated sigh. 

 

“You will one day be the death of me.” She said shaking her head and turning on her heel. “Come on, the others are waiting.”

 

As they made their way back towards the castle Grantaire fell behind in step with Bossuet and dropped his voice low so that the others could not hear it.

 

“What I said-”

 

“Forget it. I have.”

 

“No. Bossuet, really I am-”

 

“It does not matter.” Bossuet said in a firm tone and upon seeing Grantaire’s hesitant expression he sighed, crossing his arms and ducking his gaze. “It is just… It is not meant to be. I know in my heart it would be better for us all if I merely moved on. I have tried. Evidently not hard enough. I do believe in my heart part of me does not want to let go this ridiculous infatuation. Although it remains unrequited, part of it warms me.” He said the last part so quietly and serenely that Grantaire felt a fresh wave of guilt wash over him.

 

Finding no words of comfort to say he instead locked his arm with Bossuet’s and gave him what he hoped to be an encouraging expression.

 

* * *

  
Enjolras sat on the edge of the four poster bed, twiddling his thumbs. Once the overall apprehension had settled within him he had found himself quite unoccupied. His mind had run out of  _ ‘what if’ _ scenarios to torture himself with and instead he was left with nothing to think of. Flexing and unflexing his fingers, he made his way across the room. For what seemed like the dozenth time that day he moved around the small possessions he had on the dresser before pacing back towards the bed. Nothing was entertaining him and he lay on his side, groaning. 

 

Usually his days were filled with tasks and duties and he was run off his feet for so long that he did not have time to think. Now it seemed he had all the time in the world. But what was there to do or think about?

 

Was this how it was going to be, for the foreseeable future? Enjolras had no idea what he was allowed or supposed to do with his time. Was he restricted to these four walls or would he be able to wander the upper levels of the castle? What would he be expected to do as the King’s consort? The King had not told him a thing and he had not thought to ask. He had no idea about what his future would hold.

 

It was an odd sensation and a predicament that he had never found himself in before; He was bored.

 

So bored in fact that he had even hoped the King would soon request his company once more, if not just to get away from the stiflingly tedious amount of nothing that he was currently doing.

 

Before he could cringe too much at the thought that just passed through his head there was a loud knock on his door and he felt a sense of relief, before realising that whoever was on the other side was awaiting his response.

 

“Uh… Enter?” He said uncertainly.

 

Enjolras slowly sat up as he watched four servants bustling in the room, two of them holding a box each with contents unknown to Enjolras. He shifted on the bed and leaned away from where they stood, on edge again. Enjolras recognised these as a few of the higher servants in the castle; the servants who served the most prestigious people and considered themselves above the rest. Technically, Courfeyrac was one of them but Enjolras knew his dear friend would never think himself as higher than others. Enjolras grew confused once more, what were they doing here?

 

“Your Grace?” One spoke, inching towards Enjolras.

 

Enjolras blanched, and then blinked. 

 

“Your Grace?” The servant spoke again, his tone more demanding the second time around. “Your Grace?” He said in finality, looking towards Enjolras pointedly with a teasing smile.

 

Enjolras paused, before letting out a small, confused laugh. “I’m sorry? What?”

 

Another servant stepped forward. His expression was stony, almost angry. Enjolras did not know what he had done to upset him so. “Your Grace, we have been appointed as your lords-in-waiting.”

 

That made sense, Enjolras thought, but that did not explain the title or the emotions in the room. “Oh.. uh, you do not need to call me that.” He stated, standing up slowly. “We are all equals, such formalities are not needed.”

 

The second servant spoke again, having now approached Enjolras in full. He took hold of Enjolras’ arm and dragged him to the centre of the room, nails digging into his skin. “You are the King’s consort, your Grace.” He said, his voice bordering on harsh. “This is your title.”

 

Enjolras was taken aback, and seemed to shrink into himself once more. “You do not need to call me that though. I…” He trailed off, now surrounded by the servants. 

 

“It would not be appropriate,  _ your Grace _ .” A third piped up, exasperation laced in his tone. Enjolras wished to quip back to them, roll his eyes at how adamant they were, anything to refute them. Then he felt hands grip at his shirt and pull upwards, leaving his torso bare.

 

“W-what are you doing?” Enjolras asked in a panic, but was soon told to be quiet by another. He did not know what to say to that, but shrugged out of one servant’s grip only to fall into another's. He once again was disorientated, and did not know what was happening. Upon glimpsing what must be measuring tape, however, he relaxed slightly. They were measuring him, most likely for clothes he saw the Lords wear. That was not so bad, even though he despised the rich fabrics they used. He could stand there and be measured, that was something he could do.

 

Soon, he was in nothing but his undergarments on full display for all in the room, with the servants taking his measurements. Despite the precision and sharpness in their actions they seemed to be pricking his skin an awful lot. Enjolras could not help but feel there was a huge amount of tension surrounding him. He had a strong feeling that he was standing almost naked in a room of people who disliked him.

 

Enjolras could not recall a time he had ever felt more exposed or uncomfortable.

 

He watched as the servants snapped out the tape and wound it carelessly around his wrists, then his waist, and so on. He winced as it wound around his neck, the tape digging in unbearably. He closed his eyes and willed for it to be over soon. With his eyes shut he merely listened to the annoyed grunting of the servants. He was unaware of any malcontent he has shown to them; he did not know why they were so angry in his presence. It was upsetting to say the least that they took to hating him so. He just had to not think about it, he couldn’t let this get to him.

 

The tape was suddenly removed. He waited a few seconds before daring to open his eyes, and was greeted with it being put away. His shoulders slumped in relief that it was over, that all his measurements were taken and he didn’t had to suffer through it anymore.

 

Enjolras stepped back and tried to smile at the servants, but they merely blanked him, one even giving him a glare. Enjolras turned his head away and stood there. He waited for the servants to leave.

 

They didn’t.

 

“Your Grace?” One drawled out, making clear in his tone the malicious intent that lay there.

 

Enjolras slowly turned and faced the servant head on. The man that stood in front of him wore a sarcastic smile that made Enjolras frown. Enjolras straightened up his shoulders once more. “Please, do not call me that.”

 

They seemed to ignore his protests, and pulled the chair out from the dressing table. He was forced down into it, and found the servants crowding him once more. He wanted to protest again, but he couldn’t open his mouth lest he breathed in the powder that was being put on his face. One gestured for the other to bring them a bottle from the dresser, another was touching his hair, pushing it back, grooming it all the while, brushing out the knots and using oils that the purpose of eluded him. He tried to call out again, still gently, but to no avail, they ignored him as they continued drawing out his forced title and spitting false niceties with venom-

 

“ _ STOP _ !” 

 

The servants froze in their duties, Enjolras did not know whether to apologise or stand his ground and was instead left in an odd gaping stance. His scream had stopped them, he could deal with the silence. Thankfully it was soon interrupted by a large clearing of a throat.

 

“I heard a disturbance.” The large guard from the night before was making his way into the room, his presence so demanding that the servants around him took a step backwards. He must have swapped over with the guard from the morning sometime earlier. Enjolras looked around, and saw the guilt and remorse that was set upon their faces. He understood it now, he was elevated to a position so quickly that they were jealous, and their discontent shone through their actions. They seemed regretful, but also scared.

 

They all knew that with a word to the King the guard could destroy their futures in one foul swoop. Enjolras saw both the keys on his belt and the hand that had instinctively placed on the hilt of his sword, and knew what the servants were thinking.

 

Enjolras stood up from the chair and looked upon the guard squarely. He wasn’t going to let them suffer because of him.

 

“They were only doing their duties. I am just unused to this sort of attention. There is no need-”

 

“Perhaps a break from this display would calm your nerves.”

 

Enjolras didn’t know what to say to this. He looked upon the servants who were now averting their eyes from him, and he sighed. He shrugged and walked away from them, into the corner of the room so he did not have to face them.

 

He heard the guard speak up again. “I believe the King’s consort is done with your service for now. If you would return just before sunset to prepare him for dinner, I’m sure it will be appreciated.”

 

Enjolras curled his arms around himself and felt eyes on his back, so he nodded quickly. 

 

There was rustling now in the background, the servants picking up everything they had brought with them. “We will bring any garments that will fit you when we arrive later, your Gr- uh…” An awkward pause permeated the room. “In a few days we’ll have some more tailored clothes for you prepared.” The servant’s voice was small and quiet, almost toneless. Enjolras didn’t react.

 

He heard footsteps quickly walk away, down the winding staircase into the rest of the castle. His fingers curled around his bare torso and he stood there, his breaths coming easier now he was rid of the servants. He waited a few seconds, before turning around once more.

 

He was faced with the guard, hand now by his side and not perched on the hilt of his sword. He looked at Enjolras, still clad only in his undergarments, who was shivering, and smiled kindly at him. Searching the area, he found the discarded robe from earlier and gently passed it to Enjolras. “Here,” He spoke, his voice deep but patient. “You appear to be cold.”

 

Enjolras took the robe with shaking hands, shrugging it on. After tying the knot, he looked up to meet the guard’s face. “Thank you.”

 

“It is no problem.” The guard said. He then turned around and began to make his leave, but Enjolras stopped him in his tracks.

 

“You are the guard from last night.” He stated, taking a step forward and out of the corner.

 

The guard faced Enjolras again, and gave a curt nod. “I am.” 

 

Enjolras looked down at his feet for a brief moment, before staring back up. “You… You made a joke at me.” He recalled. 

 

This caused the guard to smile once more. “An unfunny one, I take it- seeing as you did not laugh.” 

 

Enjolras took a moment before smiling in return. “I apologise, it was not that it lacked humour I was merely… distracted by other thoughts. Bahorel, was it? Are you to be my personal guard?”

 

“One of them. I know my opinion is obviously quite biased but I can say without hesitation that I am the better of the two.”

 

Enjolras did find himself giving a small laugh at that. “I had the pleasure of the other this morning. Not quite as humorous, or even engaging. Stoic, I’d say.”

 

“That is a fair assessment.” Bahorel said. “He is rather underwhelming.”

 

Enjolras nodded once more, a silence filling the room once more before he filled it with tentative words. “The reason I ask this, of course, is that you may be able to reveal to me your duties. I am still rather unaware of any tasks I have here, or even what my time is meant to be consumed by. I have just spent hours pacing the marble floors of this room and the lack of activities has been so overwhelmingly…  _ boring  _ that I actually wish I was serving to a lord, just so I was free from this. Would you be so kind and possibly explain these things to me? I… I still have no inkling of why I am here in the first place. Would you do that for me Bahorel?” 

 

Bahorel immediately nodded, without even the slightest hesitation. He looked around, before sitting upon the edge of the bed. Enjolras took note and joined him, still slightly caught off guard by the fact he felt the bed sink underneath him.

 

“So,” Bahorel began. “Where to start? My duties are to guard you and escort you from one room to another. I alternate my shifts with the greatly amusing guard you were acquainted with earlier. If the pig-headed brute of a King asks for your presence, you are expected to stop what you are doing and I am to escort you to him. Otherwise, for now there are no menial tasks that idle-headed lout has assigned for you to occupy yourself with.”

 

Enjolras could not help but smile with glee at every insult. Then he frowned. “So… I am to remain in this tower and just anticipate the King’s call?”

 

Bahorel took a moment, but then shook his head. 

 

“I believe that statement to be half correct. I think you are so far expected to wait for what the King demands of you, but you are free to wander as long as I am with you. As said before, I am to escort you anywhere, hence, I am to be at your side. Assuming how the higher men believe that simply walking a castle is such a strenuous task that it requires two men to do so. The upper levels of the castle, wherever the council member’s spouses are allowed to wander, that’s where you can be. Of course, I should have mentioned, you are free to visit  a room on the east wing dubbed by many jealous servants as the ' _ Loiter-Sack Establishment _ '. It is where the ladies and spouses of the council meet with their free time when their lords are at court. I do not think it would be to your liking but it could amuse you and cure your boredom for a few hours with its ridiculousness."

 

Enjolras smirked at that. He most definitely had had the pleasure in the past of Courfeyrac explaining that room to him. He had not realised that such a display of laziness was now at his disposal if he ever craved such a thing. He knew he would not.

 

“Right.”

 

“I’m sure this lull in activities will not last.” Bahorel carried on. “Soon enough the King will give you an array of things to do throughout the day. For now I’m sure he’s giving you time to get settled.”

 

Enjolras laughed, and gestured broadly around the room. “All I have done so far is pace the room and wonder what everything is for on the dresser over there. But thank you. Even the slightest smidge of knowledge is much appreciated right now, when everything has all so suddenly been altered. Thank you, this talk and your company was what I needed.”

 

“If you want, you can have my company some more.”

 

“You do not need to return to your post?”

 

“Nobody will know, and I really only need to return once you ask of it.”

 

“Well then, stay. Conversing with you is a much more favourable solution to filling this wretched silence with talk to myself.”

 

The afternoon seemed to fly away from them once they began to speak properly. Bahorel was as easy to talk to as he was quick with his wit. Enjolras learned he had no family here, but came to a new Kingdom of his own free will after the last one he had occupied had been overrun by a tyrant even he could not handle. He’d impressed a High Lord in a tourney and quickly rose through the ranks until he was sworn in as a palace guard. It seemed his hatred of the Monarchy was well hidden from higher society. Enjolras wondered vaguely why he was so open about it in his presence. 

 

“- and Feuilly, well, Feuilly is one of the most loyal and trustworthy men you will ever meet. He’s a wily fighter, and always up for a duel.” Enjolras laughed, reminiscing on all the antics of his closest friends.

 

“Your friends are certainly… something.” Bahorel stated. “They appear to be people I would like to meet, seeing how happy they make you.”

 

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “Happy? How can you tell? I mean, you are not incorrect by any means but still.”

 

Bahorel gave a laugh. “I can tell by how calm and relaxed you are now after speaking about them. It is a far cry away from the man I saw with the servants.”

 

Shrinking into himself ever so slightly, Enjolras sighed. “I was, well, certainly lost for words then. I have never been reduced to that before.”

 

“I could tell.” Bahorel smiled sympathetically at him. “I have only ever seen you preaching and vocalising your distaste before today. It was a jarring shock to the system to see you so defenseless against the servant’s onslaughts.”

 

“Before today?” Enjolras asked. “We have only met today, if you disinclude the one sentence spoken last night.” Furrowing his eyebrows, Enjolras looked imploringly at the guard. “You knew me before this? How?”

 

Bahorel did not falter under the gaze. He merely changed his position as he sat. “I have undertaken many roles as I travelled up through the rankings of the royal military. My role prior to this was one of the guards of the hearing room. It was a prestigious job, but a lot of standing around. It was interesting though, as I would often be subject to the hearings of the village serfs or castle servants, including-”

 

“Me.” Enjolras interrupted. “You were present for my campaigns against the King?”

 

“A good majority of them, I would say. Enough to recognise the sound of your voice passing in the corridors. Enough to know your face as you arrived at your chambers. And definitely enough to see plainly the injustice here before me; that the King saw you at your hearings and decided without your voice that he would take you for his Consort. Enough to feel the anger I feel.”

 

Slowly but surely, pieces started to click in Enjolras’ head. “You… Your talk of hatred towards the monarchy. It wasn’t a ploy? Nor a test of my loyalties towards the King as I’m now his consort?”

 

Bahorel shook his head. “Whilst I cannot begrudge you your doubts, I can assure you that everything I have said was not only truthful but came from the heart.”

 

“And you told me without fear as you knew I feel the same way?”

 

“Indeed.”

 

It took a moment, but then Enjolras smiled widely. “You are telling me the truth, I can tell. I’m glad that I have found a friend in you, one that I was certainly not expecting to find.”

 

“Well I’m glad I have made a friend in you. Admittedly, I have always admired you from your speeches and your way with words. The way you spoke for the servants and the problems they faced with nerve and without complaint, and the way you challenged the king on the issues the villages have without fear. Standing at the back of the room and watching you advocate for the people, it was inspiring to say the least. I have always despised how the monarchy ignores the problems of the people to further their wealth, and how they treat us. But you would go against that and campaign and write letters and further your cause from the castle.”

 

Enjolras smiled widened. “You have read my letters as well?”

 

Bahorel nodded. “They always seemed to reach me, yes. Unfortunately, I am unable to read them for myself, but word travels and so I know the contents through word of mouth. The whole village finds them inspiring.”

 

“That is very kind of you to say.”

 

“I do not know if you realise just how much of an influence you’ve had. I sometimes believe the court does not allow you out because the instant you’d step foot within the village the commoners would be singing your praises so loud, they’d deafen the King.”

 

Enjolras could not help but laugh bashfully at the comment. “And what would the King have to say if he heard you singing my praises?”

 

“Why he would drag me to the courtroom only to have me  _ throne  _ out of the Kingdom.”

 

Enjolras laughed loudly, his head falling forwards whilst a hand covered his mouth in his mirth. “Your puns, they’re ridiculous!” He snorted, cracking up again. “I don’t even know if Grantaire could compete with you!” 

 

“Grantaire?” Bahorel inquired curiously.

 

The laughter died. 

 

After a few moments, Bahorel spoke up once more. “Ah, I see. Would this Grantaire be the lover you mentioned to the king so vehemently last night?”

 

Another pause, before Enjolras dared to comment once more. “You heard everything?” 

 

“Yes,” Was the simple answer Bahorel gave. “You weren’t exactly cautious about me hearing your anger. So I assume this is a yes, this Grantaire is the lover you defended?”

 

Enjolras chose to merely nod, his eyes focusing on his lap. It seemed as if any words he held for Grantaire formed the apple in his throat that he was nearly choking on. He couldn’t muster up the will to speak about it. It was still to raw, too painful. It was an open laceration in his skin that was only being infected as time went on; it just kept hurting more and more.

 

“Tell me about him.” Bahorel almost demanded, seeing the grief upon the other’s face. “He seems to mean a great deal to you.”

 

“Grantaire…” It was barely more than a whisper. “Grantaire was, is… R is, well, he’s infuriating.” Enjolras gave a harsh chuckle, and turned his head towards Bahorel once more. Bahorel seemed confused, obviously expecting a different answer, but was silent waiting for Enjolras to carry on. “His views are abhorrent, he takes great care in making a joke and a song out of everything and he thinks nothing of all the times I have campaigned against the council for advancements in our treatment. He is a contradiction in the sense he wants for the equal treatment I aspire for, but believes that our advocacy will be fruitless and nothing will change. But, despite all of that, he’s one of the most brilliant men I have ever known.

 

“He’s incredibly versatile. He works in the kitchen officially, he’s expected to help prepare the side dishes. But he helps out around the stables too sometimes if Feuilly and Bossuet are busy. He’s strong, likes to spar with Feuilly to keep fit, and talented too. He’s...He’s pretty great, to say the least, and more.”

 

Bahorel chuckled. “Strong and talented, hm? Sounds like yours truly.”

 

Enjolras laughed in response. “He is. He- well it sounds ridiculous but he can carry bags of food into the kitchen without breaking a sweat, and uhm, he can carry me comfortably as well. He has before. I used to find it aggravating when he’d pick me up, but I was endeared nonetheless... And he is so talented in far too many ways. He’s a fast learner. He picked up reading and writing so quickly in the months I taught him, it is hard to believe now that he was illiterate when we met. He’s an artist as well! He likes to sketch me pictures when we have spare coin for parchment and uses charcoal from the kitchen fireplaces. It is incredible how simple, ordinary things are brought to life with his hand, I can not explain it with justice but they are simply beautiful…” He trailed off again, and seemed to be lost in thought. Slowly, a serene smile crept upon his face. “He’s also hilarious. His puns could most definitely rival yours, if not beat them.”

 

“He sounds like a man after my own heart.” Bahorel teased. “If you are unable to have him, may I?”

 

Enjolras rolled his eyes, feeling laughter build up again. “Please, back off from the object of my affections. Is a reminder necessary that he holds my heart?”

 

Bahorel nodded, chuckling slightly. “Of course, I was only joking, but he does appear to be a man I most definitely will get along with. Especially if he is as free-giving with his puns as I hope he is.”

 

“He is.” Enjolras said nodding his head. “You know...The first thing he said when we met was a pun and it had annoyed me greatly at the time. A lot of things he did that I now look back on fondly used to me to annoy me. When meeting with my friends to discuss our next course of action in campaigning, he would interject with ramblings and puns and distract them and I would have to chastise him and bring everyone back on track. 

 

“I see now he would do so mostly for my attention, negative as it may have been. He used to smile so frustratingly proudly when he thought he’d bested me at arguments. But it wasn’t that that truly struck me about him… It was the moments we had with just the two of us. He spoke to me so differently without an audience to appease and impress. He’d look at me as though I stood on marble steps and talked in tones of softness. It was like there were two of him. The persona he’d project to gain my fury and his true self that he would only show when it was just the two of us. I, of course, preferred the latter and when I found the courage I sought him out alone more and more. When we talk of our past he always seems to remember our arguments, but I always remember those stolen moments with him alone…” Enjolras paused for a long time thinking on Grantaire before saying in a broken voice “I didn’t get to say goodbye.”

 

“You… You didn’t get to say goodbye?”

 

Enjolras shook his head. “I was permitted, yes,  _ permitted  _ to spend one last night in our chambers with him but the next day I was ripped from him without saying our final goodbyes as the guards arrived early. I was then dragged here.”

 

When Enjolras moved his eyes towards Bahorel again, he was shocked to come across the unbridled rage imprinted on Bahorel’s face. “I cannot believe they did this to you.”

 

Shrugging, Enjolras replied. “I cannot believe they did this to me either.”

 

“No, seriously.” Bahorel began to rant. “Without your say the King took you for his own and split you from your lover. He and his council ignored your pleas for the commoner’s rights in favour for misinterpreting your intentions. And now you remain here as his Consort, restricted to the upper levels of the castle and not even allowed near the servant’s quarters. It’s… It’s not right.”

 

“I know that.” Enjolras said resignedly. “We can’t change this though. Some of the last words my lover said to me were his promise to take me away from this fate, despite the fact that he does not believe in rebellion. I am stuck here with no way to help my situation. I do want to believe that he was earnest in his word, and I know that he loves me, but I fear that this is a power that he knows not of. It just seems like such a impossibility that there ever could be a way out of this. I don’t want to doubt him but I know the King and I feel there is no hope to save me.” 

 

Enjolras closed his eyes for a moment, but opened them once more when he felt a hand upon his shoulder. Bahorel’s face was raw with emotion, but Enjolras could not discern a particular one; there were too many. “My friend,” Bahorel said, his voice passionate and unwavering. “Know that I will do whatever I can to help you. If I could find a way for you to speak to your lover, or even a way for you to escape, I’d do it in a heartbeat.”

 

Shocked, Enjolras eyes widened. To have such a fierce pledge of loyalty from someone so unexpected was overwhelming him, but he was glad to have it nonetheless. Smiling at his new found friend, a thought came to him unbidden that rose up and exited through his mouth. “Bahorel, would you do me a service, then?”

 

“Anything.” Bahorel replied without delay.

 

Enjolras knew not how to phrase the question he wished to ask, so he quickly got up and rushed over to the writing desk. He glared at the pile of flimsy paper that sat upon the desk; the ink would bleed straight through and hence it was of no use to him. He searched around and his eyes fell upon the last few pieces of parchment he had brought with him. Grabbing them, he sat down at the desk whilst picking up his quill. He began to write.

 

From behind him, he heard Bahorel make a noise of understanding. “Ah, you wish for me to deliver a letter? Or perhaps one of your writings?”

 

“Letters, yes.” Enjolras replied as he carved his message onto the paper. “One for my friends, and the other specifically for Grantaire’s eyes.”

 

“Right.” Bahorel said. “That’s easy enough, I shall deliver them at sunset, when my shift ends.”

 

Enjolras did not reply, and focused on his calligraphy. He wrote messages of a bittersweet demeanor, of longing and nostalgia. As he completed the first letter, he caught a glimpse of the drawing his lover left him. Bursting through his chest, he felt both love and anger flood his senses, and he began to scrawl the message for Grantaire without pause. He knew what he wanted, he knew what he needed to say.

 

Signing the last remark with his signature, he folded the parchment and moved to stand up again. Bahorel rose with him, holding his hand out expectantly. Enjolras made to place the letters in Bahorel’s open palm, but he faltered. Then, he paused.

 

“I…” Enjolras trailed off, his breathing picking up. “I cannot ask this of you. Delivering these is a risk I cannot let you undertake. You can’t do this, Bahorel. I apologise for wasting your time, but this would put not only me but you in danger. You could be executed for this.”

 

Surprisingly, the response Enjolras received was not of acceptance, or even a clap on the shoulder. He heard a booming laugh. “You think that I would be so easily captured?” Bahorel said in mirth. “Then you do not think as highly as me as I think of yourself. I am one of the finest guards in this castle. Let them do their worst. I will fight anyone to get those letters delivered, put your faith in me as I can do this. I am unafraid.”

 

Enjolras nodded, a small smile creeping onto his face. “Then do not let my faith be misplaced. Deliver these letters to the kitchen quarters and return here unscathed.” He placed the first letter in Bahorel’s hand, and watched as Bahorel held it securely. “This letter here is for my friends at large. Hand it to whoever steps up to read. Not all my friends can read, but Grantaire, Joly and Courfeyrac can. Combeferre too, if he’s there.”

 

“Right.”

 

“Okay, good. Now, this letter,” Enjolras passed over the second one. “This is for Grantaire’s eyes. Please deliver this to him. He’ll be able to read this without difficulty.”

 

Bahorel nodded his affirmation. “How will I know it is your lover?”

 

“You have heard description enough of his character, but to differentiate him from the others know that he has dark hair and will be wearing his kitchen uniform. Also, if I know my lover even just the slightest amount then he will be sitting alone near the corner of the room, with more alcohol running through his veins than blood.”

 

“Enjolras?” Bahorel asked. Enjolras felt a sense of relief pass through him at the mention of his actual name and not the title that had been thrust upon him so suddenly.

 

“Yes?”

 

“I cannot read either. It would be quite the catastrophe if I mixed your letters up.”

 

Enjolras thought for a moment before taking the two letters back and snatching up his quill. With a quick flourish he drew a small rose on the back of the smaller of the parchments and handed them back to Bahorel.

 

“The rose is for my love.” He said.

 

“It is a good thing you’re skilled in speech and have an easy face to look upon for I never would have guessed that was a rose.” Bahorel teased, carefully putting one letter in his right pocket and the other in his left. “It looks more like an ass to me. But that too is suitable for a lover, I suppose.”

 

Enjolras laughed feeling joyous in Bahorel’s presence. His company and friendly banter made him feel more like himself, and less like somebody put on a pedestal with no warning. He was easy to talk with. Where before Enjolras felt the time had stretched for far too long, now it seemed to be going much too fast and all too suddenly sunset was upon them. 

 

The servants returned to prepare Enjolras for dinner. Without complaint he let them place product in his hair, knowing rationally they were only performing the duties the king had assigned them. Once his hair was styled to what they were aiming for, they washed his face gently, taking care to dress the cuts. Enjolras was surprised once again when he felt the puffs of powder touch his face, his nose scrunching up. This time however, he let the servant’s do what they were told. Under Bahorel’s watchful eye though, they did not dare undress him again, they merely held the items of clothing they had picked out for him against his body to make sure they fit and left them for him to change into them.

 

Bahorel returned to his post for the second guard’s arrival and left Enjolras to change. Feeling the soft and smooth fabric that was left for him he tried not to let himself wonder just how much such clothing cost the King, for he knew it would only make him upset and angry once more. He sighed, resigning himself to the change and dressed himself in the garments. They were tight, uncomfortable, obviously designed not for practicality but to show off some of his better assets. Enjolras assumed he’d have to soon get used to that.

 

He knew if he caught his reflection he would not recognise or like the man before him, so he instead took his place upon the bed and awaited his instructions.

 

* * *

 

Grantaire walked into the servants quarters behind Joly and Musichetta, unhooking his arm from Bossuet’s as he did so. The moment he entered the conversation stilled and his friends gaze were all upon him, bringing back once more the shame he felt in the pit of his stomach and a paranoid fear that they were all just discussing him in unkind terms.

 

Cosette was the first to move forward, wrapping her arms tight around his waist and pulling him in close. 

 

“We are here to help you.” She said quietly, relinquishing her hold. 

 

Grantaire held back his emotions, patting her awkwardly on the back and nodding slightly. Feeling slightly more at ease he looked around the room once more. Courfeyrac was teetering on his toes and nodding enthusiastically. Feuilly, was sitting with his arms crossed, a determined and sympathetic expression on his face. Combeferre was sitting slightly to one side, he still seemed to be unsure if he was welcome in their company but he smiled at Grantaire when their eyes met across the room, and it was so genuine that Grantaire could not help but smile back.

 

It seemed that only Jehan was holding something back, as he looked at Grantaire pensively. Grantaire knew the look all too well and his smile disappeared instantly. Jehan was on the verge of a monologue and was currently carefully phrasing it inside his own head before saying it aloud. 

 

“Go on, Jehan. Chastise me.” Grantaire said with a low sigh, crossing his arms and casting his eyes downwards. “Lords know I deserve it.”

 

Jehan merely kept his eyes on Grantaire carefully, finishing with his thoughts before gracing him a response. 

 

“My friend.” Jehan started, walking towards Grantaire. “Seeing you here unharmed is of much relief to me, seeing as how the atmosphere in the room darkened as we all waited pensively for your return. It is of course good to see you here, supporting us as we were prepared to do for you. I would happily follow you for Enjolras however it is not you that I am currently concerned about. In this moment he is the one who needs us more desperately and my sympathies and hearts dismay for you aside, you must understand I will not abandon him in his time of need. Nor should you. If you plan to do so, do not waste our time. Tell us now and have it done with or be with us through to the end.”

 

Having such a smaller man stand up to him so confidently and with such determination sent a welcome sense of Déjà Vu through Grantaire, as he was reminded suddenly of Enjolras doing the same to him on many occasions. He knew in that moment, with Jehan looking at him so expectantly and defiantly that there was no turning back and no time for doubt within himself.

 

“Through to the end.” Grantaire confirmed smiling down at Jehan and holding his hand out for him to shake. Jehan narrowed his eyes for but a moment, before swatting Grantaire’s hand aside and pulling him into a tight squeeze.

 

“Then I am your loyal companion.” Jehan said upon releasing him. “And may I add that I truly am sorry for you as well. In times we are not forming a plan I would be more than happy to lend an ear to your sorrows.”

 

“No. You were right with what you said before. My sorrows are unimportant at such a crucial time. We do not know the King’s own plans or when he intends to set his wedding. That should be our first course of action. If we are to find that out we know how much time we have and can plan accordingly.”

 

Grantaire realised suddenly that all of their eyes were on him for different reasons now. Their expressions were set and they were taking in his words as though they were commands. He realised with a start that he had just given his first order as a leader- and only by accidentally speaking his thoughts aloud. Perhaps he actually could do this.

 

Clearing his throat and pressing past the self realisation he now had he continued onwards.

 

“Combeferre, Courfeyrac and Jehan are our most valuable assets when it comes to finding out this kind of information. I leave that up to them and then rest of us should keep our heads down for the time being. If any of us were to poke our noses where they don’t belong, it would raise suspicions” Grantaire felt his head pounding loudly and collapsed into the closest seat to him, deeply regretting the countless rounds of drinks he’d intoxicated himself with. “I apologise. I don’t have much more today. It has been… Long and trying. Give me until tomorrow and I will have tasks for you all and the beginnings of a plan.”

 

“I have a question.” Feuilly said suddenly, although he was not looking at Grantaire. “Should we really be discussing these things with somebody we do not know?”

 

Combeferre blushed only slightly at the implication and once more seemed uncomfortable around them. Grantaire fixed Feuilly with a serious look.

 

“Enjolras trusts him. That is enough for me.” He said with finality.

 

“Feuilly, we have found a new friend who is not only a Doctor but who is also quite easy on the eyes. Be grateful and do not question it or you may frighten him off!” Courfeyrac said with a wink in Combeferre’s direction. The blush upon his cheeks before was nothing compared to now. Grantaire could not help the smile that crept upon his face at the sight of them both and was reminded of the early days before Enjolras and he had gotten together.

 

“If you could both refrain from talking about me as though I am not here-” Combeferre started.

 

“Oh, how could we  _ not  _ know you are here. _ Mon ami, _ it is hard to look away.” Courfeyrac countered, settling his cheek into his palm and indicating his point by staring straight at the young doctor.

 

“Oh my! This reminds me.” Musichetta said suddenly turning towards Bossuet with a delighted smile. “You’ve been hiding secrets from us!”

 

Bossuet appeared absolutely mortified. “What do you mean?” He asked in a voice much higher than his own.

 

“At the bar there was mention of an unrequited love! You never told us who holds your heart so dearly!”

 

Bossuet blanched and looked towards Grantaire for help, who was busy hiding his face behind his hands to hide his silent giggling. 

 

“It is… It’s nobody.. It’s nothing. It is of no concern.” He said with another squeak.

 

“Come, Bossuet. You can tell us.” Joly said with a smile. “At least let us know so we can personally tell them how much of an imbecile they are for not returning your affections. Only a fool would not be able to fall for you.”

 

“I must return to the stables now.” Bossuet said quickly, tripping over himself as he rose to leave. 

 

“But your duties are over for the day.” Musichetta said confusedly.

 

“Feuilly didn’t tell you?” He asked them, backing away towards the door. “Horse emergency. I have to go.”

 

He turned to exit, only to be stopped in his tracks by a very large and intimidating guard standing at the doorway. Feuilly instinctively rose from the table, his hand clenched in a fist and Courfeyrac fell slightly off his chair.

 

Jehan seemed to be in panic mode, while the rest of them collectively held their breaths he was the first to speak. “We’re not doing anything wrong!” He said scrambling as a bag of special herbs fell out of his pocket. 

 

The guard took a step into the room, seeming not to take notice of anyone’s panic. “I never said you were.”

 

“Then why are you here?” Feuilly said with warning in his voice. 

 

Grantaire was eyeing him carefully. On principle he hated anybody who worked directly for the King. But there was something about the way the man had entered the room that struck him as oddly agreeable despite his profession.

 

“I am not afraid of you.” Feuilly stated. “I will force you from this room and take this outside if need be.”

 

Courfeyrac stood up suddenly forcing himself in front of Feuilly. “No one needs to fight, just tell us why you’re here and we will go our separate ways.”

 

The guard however had ignored the comment, eyes not leaving Feuilly’s face for a second. “Truthfully, my intention today was not for a fight, but I consent to one anyway. You certainly look like you could take me on, but I will win regardless. Set a time and a place.”

 

Feuilly frowned and was about to step forward when Cosette piped up. “We are all rather getting out of hand here. No one needs to fight, Courfeyrac was right in saying so. Obviously you’ve wandered so close to our kitchens for something to eat. Here, I have a pastry to spare for you.” She picked up one from a nearby tray and started to walk over, but stopped when the guard smiled apologetically and lifted a hand to stop her.

 

“Whilst it is not hunger that has brought me here today, I must say that that is an angelic looking pasty you are holding there madame, even more so than the charismatic Enjolras, the King's croissant.”

 

Instantly everyone seemed to freeze. Jehan let out a small laugh before quickly clapping his hand over his mouth, his eyes going wide. Feuilly stepped back in his confusion and unclenched his fists. Grantaire straightened his back at the mention of Enjolras, his eyes locked on the guard.

 

“You have spoken to him!” Courfeyrac said with a gasp.

 

The guard nodded. “My name is Bahorel, I have been appointed as one of his personal guards. I am not currently on duty however.”

 

“You’re Enjolras’ guard.” Grantaire repeated slowly as his eyes narrowed. 

 

Bahorel’s attention turned towards Grantaire. “And you are Grantaire.”

 

Grantaire’s eyes widened in surprise. “You know my name?”

 

“How can I not, you are all Enjolras talks about. I knew you the moment I arrived just from his descriptions. I also know what you are planning to do for him.”

 

The room grew tense once more as the group shared uncertain glances with one another. Grantaire kept his eyes upon Bahorel, searching every facet of the man’s face for a hint of deception.

 

“If you’re here to try and stop us, drive your sword through my belly this instant. But if I were you, I’d make sure it’s as sharp as your threat. I will not stop trying until Enjolras is free or I am dead. You could cut down my limbs and I’d climb his tower with my teeth to save him.” Grantaire said darkly.

 

“I am not here to try and stop you, quite the opposite” Bahorel said with a small laugh. “And how would I be able to call myself your ally if I were to go around stabbing you?”

 

“Ally?” Courfeyrac asked confused. 

 

“I may have been forced to guard Enjolras on the King’s orders but my decision to be his friend is my choice alone. I’ve come from Kingdoms much worse than this. Kingdoms where the royals refuse to hear the people and kill them without warning for the joy of it. But I know Kings and no matter what facade of niceties they present a King is a King; and Kings are snakes wrapped in fine silks and jewels. When you have a snake in your garden you cut off it’s head or before you know it they’re wrapped around your throat and constricting you simply because they can.”

 

“You talk as though you are one of us and yet you are a palace guard.” Feuilly accused, his brows still knitted in anger. “You swore your loyalties and your sword to the King when you accepted that title. You expect us to believe you’re not a spy for him?”

 

Bahorel let out a booming laugh, so loud and deep that it made Cosette jump slightly.

 

“If I were a spy I would waste no time with talking. You’d be dead upon the floor before you knew I’d entered.” 

 

“I would like to see you try.” Feuilly said indignantly, clearly offended at the implication he would be defeated so easily.

 

“You have never heard the expression to keep our enemies as close as your friends? I can do you more help in the King’s good graces than if I were to prance around the castle yelling my indignities at him. No matter how tempting that may be, I am not a stupid man.”

 

“That’s debatable.” Feuilly muttered, crossing his arms, but Grantaire could tell by the way his brow had come undone and his posture had relaxed that the man had won him over.

 

Bahorel laughed once more. “I like this one.” He said bluntly before turning his attentions back to Grantaire.

 

“I have a letter for you all.” He said with a softened tone. “From Enjolras.”

 

He reached into a pocket on the right side of his pants and pulled out a small sliver of parchment. Holding it out to Grantaire, who hesitated before taking it and unfolding it, his fingers shaking slightly as he did so.

 

“It is in his hand.” He said with a breath. Seeing it sent spells of memories through his mind of Enjolras teaching him words and letters. The loopy, cursive E’s he used to draw, over and over again until Grantaire’s messy interpretation of them was eligible enough.

 

Grantaire brushed a hand over the dried ink, blinking away the tears forming in his eyes in order to focus them. He looked up at Bahorel with confusion.

 

“Why are you doing this? What do you stand to benefit?”

 

“The people stand to benefit without a King as much as Enjolras does.” Bahorel said with a shrug of his broad shoulders.

 

“We are not just freeing Enjolras.” Combeferre said rising from the table. “We are freeing ourselves.”

 

A grim understanding seemed to be reached within the room. Nobody had said it aloud, nobody had dared to discuss it but they all knew that there was only one way they could do this. Grantaire ran a hand through his hair, his eyes glancing over the writing on the parchment once more, unable to take any of it in.

 

“The last time somebody tried to kill a King half the village wound up dead.” He said quietly.

 

“Where they failed we can succeed.” Feuilly said determinedly. “We can learn from their mistakes. We can replicate their successes. Almost everyone knows somebody who fought in it. There are stories throughout the village that we can hear and learn from. Enjolras’ parents would have wanted us to try once more.”

 

“Not just his parents.” Grantaire said under his breath before clearing his throat. “If we do this- which we will, we’re going to do it in a way where nobody has to die except the King and his constituents.”

 

Joly was looking at him with sad eyes. “That is an impossible and unrealistic goal.”

 

Grantaire shook his head.

 

“Unrealistic? Yes. Impossible? No. There’s the smallest chance. A miniscule slither of hope. Enjolras always says where there is a hope there is a chance. We can all gain from thinking like him.”

 

“Still, it is wise not to look past the realities of what we are agreeing to do-”

 

“This will be my revolution, Joly. And as such if I say nobody is dying then nobody is dying.”

 

“As much as I would very much not like to die, I have to agree with Joly.” Bossuet said with an uncertain and worried look. “How would you propose a revolution with no blood spilt on one side?”

 

“You leave that to me.” Grantaire said. “I cannot plan in detail at such an early stage, but have faith in my word. Have I ever broken a promise to you?”

 

“Plenty of times.” Bossuet said with a smile. “But you have my faith regardless.”

 

“Grantaire,” Musichetta said shyly, her voice quiet, her usual air of confidence seemed to be lost as she averted her eyes. “Would you mind reading us Enjolras’ letter?”

 

Grantaire remembered suddenly that a good number of them could not read. He sat up slightly and cleared his throat, concentrating. He was slower at reading than at writing and he had not yet been able to read things aloud anywhere near the natural pace that Enjolras could.

 

“ _ My Amis, _

 

_ I feel utterly lost in this place without your company but I am otherwise fine. The castle I’ve known my whole life seems now so different and unknown to me. Bahorel is the only thing keeping my sanity and I want you all to know that I truly trust him. He has proven to be an honourable friend in delivering this without complaint and knowing the distrust you would immediately show him. _

 

_ Feuilly, I know your first instinct upon seeing a palace guard is to instantly hate them, but I feel if you two actually talked you would get along quite well. You both share your tenacity, and your drive to fight. Take him for your ally, and not a foe. _

 

_ I know that this is difficult for all of us, but I believe in you and despite the situation having digressed to this, we will be able to use it for our advantage. Bahorel is here for you to deliver messages and correspondence through to me, as I have done for you today. We shall keep this communication going, so that I am in the light of all plans that may fall into place. _

 

_ Know that I miss you all dearly and I hope we will be reunited soon enough. Hold the faith, and keep hope. Potentially, if orchestrated correctly, we can end this. _

 

_ Enjolras. _ ”

 

Looking around the room his friends seemed content and reassured at the letters contents and were discussing it amongst themselves in a loud and relieved babble, but Grantaire could not help but feel a sting of sadness. He wondered why Enjolras had not singled him out in the letter, or even said a single word of love. He had not even mentioned his name.

 

“Cosette, Grantaire.” Musichetta said after a few minutes, rising from her place at the table. “We must return to the kitchens to start preparing the dinner service. Grantaire you’re going to apologise to the Kitchen Master and keep your head down this time, or I’m going to twist your ear until it falls off.”

 

“Yes, Musichetta.” Grantaire said with a sigh as he too rose to leave.

 

Bahorel tore himself away from his conversation with Courfeyrac, who was enthusiastically bombarding him with questions about Enjolras’ wellbeing. Grantaire could not help but notice that Combeferre was watching them converse with a slight frown from the table.

 

“Grantaire. Before you go I would like to shake your hand. It is a pleasure to meet the one who has captivated the heart of somebody so enchanting.”

 

“Oh.” Grantaire said surprised. This man hadn’t struck him as the type to be so insistent on formalities but Grantaire humoured him anyway. When he shook his hand however he felt the raw cusp of a parchment piece hit his palm. Bahorel gave him a wink before slowly pulling his hand away, leaving Grantaire plenty of opportunity to enclose his own hand around the paper.

 

Grantaire looked at Bahorel curiously but he was already making his way back over to Courfeyrac, turning away from his friends he carefully opened the smaller piece of parchment. 

 

‘ _ Grantaire, _

 

_ I’m sorry I never had a chance to grant you a proper goodbye. Thinking back on it now, however I realise that it is probably for the best we never had a chance to say the words, for from the bottom of my heart I do not believe this is goodbye.  _

 

_ I do not know what your plans are, perhaps it is for the best that I never know. I don’t know exactly how much I can trust myself with the information. Just the thought of hearing you leading is enough for me to want to shout it to the Kingdom. I’ve always been proud of who you are, but I don’t know if I ever even had a chance to tell you that. I wish I could now. _

 

_ I don’t want the others to know this, or it may dampen their spirits, but I am frightened. I do not know what of or have any real reason to be. So far I have been treated beyond respectfully. I just have a feeling I can’t explain that makes me more nervous and nauseous than I have ever been. _

 

_ I fear I must keep this short or my emotions will become far too unstable and my words will become incoherent- just know every second that passes I miss you more.  _

 

_ I long to see you again. I long to hear your voice. I remember exactly where we were the first time you spoke to me and I hope that you do too. I would not so easily forget; not the time, or the place, or the first words. We will always have that pun that brought us together. Bahorel is quite talented at making puns work, and at bringing things together. _

 

_ Forever yours, _

 

_ Enjolras. _ ’

 

Grantaire read the last paragraph that seemed so out of place from the others three more times. Making sure that he had read it correctly and that the meaning could not be misconstrued. He had no doubt in his mind that he knew what Enjolras had secretly tried to tell him.

 

He looked around the room desperately until his eyes locked upon Bahorel’s back, and strode over to him grabbing him by the forearm and leading him to the corner of the room.

 

“The Ballroom that the King holds his dances.” He said breathlessly. “It’s not used for any purpose currently, no?”

 

“It lays empty and barren until the King decides to hold a function.” Bahorel said looking slightly alarmed at Grantaire’s expression. “The only people who visit it are the castle maids to clean it every week or so.”

 

Grantaire let out a desperate and contented laugh. “Do you think…? I mean it may be quite impossible. If we were to be caught they’d surely… No...”

 

“I pledged to Enjolras I would do anything to help him.” Bahorel said proudly, straightening his back and fixing Grantaire with a determined look. “That includes helping yourself. If it is within my power, consider it done. What do you request?”

 

“That is the thing… I do not know if this is within your power. It is certainly not worth your life-”

 

“I will decide for myself what is and is not worth my life.”

 

Grantaire looked up at him, a mix of boldness and fear reflected in his eyes. “I wish… I need to see him again- Somehow. I believe he left a coded message for me in my letter to meet with him in the ballroom.”

 

“It will be incredibly dangerous, not to mention difficult to pull off without rousing suspicion.”

 

“Forget I asked.”

 

“The risk only adds to the fun.” Bahorel said with a broad grin. “I give you my word you will see him within the week.”

 

Grantaire’s eyes lit up as he felt his heart swell in gratefulness and hope.

 

“I don’t know how to thank you.”

 

Bahorel merely smiled at him and clapped him on the back.  

 

“Just promise me when the day comes you’ll put me at the front of the battle.”

 

Grantaire smiled back at him. 

 

“Consider it done.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some closing notes.
> 
> Villenc is an old French name from the 12th and 13th century. It has not been used for years and is considered to be a "Dead Name."
> 
> Joly is my favourite mother Hen.
> 
> Jehan AKA 420 blaze it.
> 
> Once again, Enjolras hates aesthetic.
> 
> -Athena


	4. Merely a Tactic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “But that is what we can do! It’s so simple!” Courfeyrac said in barely contained excitement. 
> 
> “What about this is simple?” Grantaire asked with narrowed eyes.
> 
> “I know!! We can!! It’s just!! It would be!!” Courfeyrac was close to breaking his whisper and Grantaire looked around the room anxiously to make sure they weren’t being overheard or watched.
> 
> “Courfeyrac, for the sake of the Gods, calm down and breathe before you speak next.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a different tone to the others preceding it. It is the calm before the storm.

From the tower’s windows, Enjolras could hardly make out the people below him. They were there, however, he could see them rushing about their business delivering crops to the kitchens or attending the gardens. They were so far away though, so small. He had to practically press his face against the glass to look down below him, even in the clear, bright weather, as it was all he had. This was as close as he could get to them now.

 

Noon had approached him this way. After his second breakfast within the King’s company he was returned to his chambers, yet again with nothing to do. So he stayed by the window, watching the people pass beneath him. He kept wondering if his friends were the ones walking below, if they were the ones performing their duties. He couldn’t tell. He hoped that Bahorel would be placed on shift soon, the silence in the room was asphyxiating him. He needed a booming voice to prevent his chamber walls from closing in any further.

 

He despised this. Enjolras could hardly fathom the right words anymore to describe his growing anger and despair at the situation. It was as though his mind had run out of energy to produce them. He was stuck here for hours and his only escape was when he was brought into the dining hall to eat with the King and sometimes his council. And the King, well, the King was-

 

The King was nothing he expected, that much was true. He had done nothing but compliment Enjolras throughout yesterday’s luncheon and both breakfasts he had endured thus far. He sat across from Enjolras and told him of beauty as the King ate and Enjolras nibbled. He listened, he inquired; it was an open platform for Enjolras to mention the issues that plagued the servants, which he attempted to speak about simply to get it through to the ever dense King. At dinner however, when the council was present, Enjolras did not have this. The council, it now appeared, were more villainous and plotting than Enjolras expected. They barred Enjolras out in conversation to spin their ploys to the King, they were scathing in their remarks when Enjolras tried to have his turn, they made horrid jokes about Enjolras having better things to think about, less important and mundane things for someone as fair, more useful things as a consort. The King said nothing to this. Enjolras wondered if it was due to an unspoken power they had over him.

 

Who knew? Enjolras certainly didn’t, and it didn’t look as though he would be finding out any time soon.

 

Another person passed below, and Enjolras craned down to see them. It frustrated him to no end that he couldn’t tell who it was. Only the thick head of hair told him that it was certainly not Lesgle. Groaning, Enjolras took a step back and looked out to the horizons, to the stretching expanse of land beyond the castle boundaries. His cheek had smudged the glass ever so slightly. He could see half of the nearest village from the corner of his window, the neighbouring farmlands and meadows intersected by a meandering river and the forest in the distance. It was a whole side to the world he’d never seen before, the world outside the castle where the people lived their lives. Where he wanted to live his. 

 

Enjolras closed his eyes and took a breath to get rid of that thought. It was implausible. He was either to be returned to his previous life and normalcy after the few months the King promised him, with his friends and Grantaire but his ever-lasting imprisonment within the castle’s walls. Or, alternatively, he would remain in this room when not at the King’s side. Being forced to be polite and courteous at all times, for eternity, if either the King or the Council would not release him.

 

He glanced back at the window again after opening his eyes, and looked at his reflection.

 

Immediately, he turned his head back. An appearance he barely remembered was taunting him; a constant reminder of what he had to endure these next months. His hair had been styled and treated to enhance his natural curls, his face had been powdered and cosmetics had been added to hide any imperfection and finally all of the outfits that had been made for him thus far had been tailored to fit snugly. He could hear the Council’s comments at the table, the Lords and Ladies in the halls, the servant’s whisperings; that the King was lucky to have such a beautiful consort. He could tell that everything was made to make him look as presentable as he could, but he didn’t feel anything like beautiful like this. He felt like everything he hated.

 

A knock on the door forced Enjolras out of his thoughts, and he cleared his throat. “Enter.”

 

Enjolras could see the door open through the window’s reflection, and he watched as his guard entered. “Bahorel, my friend.”

 

“A friend to you, a fiend to the Kingdom.” He joked as he entered, walking to stand next to Enjolras as he continued to gaze upon the world outside. “You look well today.”

 

“That is all the work the servants have done on me.” Enjolras sighed. “I assure you I feel nothing but rotten.”

 

Bahorel turned to look at Enjolras fully. “Hm? You do look well, but that doesn’t mean you feel well. Thoughts still plaguing you?”

 

Enjolras shrugged. “I have nothing but my thoughts in here, my friend. Everyday that passes I feel worse, being stuck in this tower, separated from everyone.”

 

“Would it ease your troubles in any form if I inform you that your letters reached your friends without any problems arising?”

 

For the first time that day, Enjolras smiled and felt his heart rise hopefully in his chest. “It would.”

 

Bahorel grinned at the admission. “Good. I must say, your friends are quite the characters. Your friend, the stable boy whose name escapes me, was quite affrontive when I first entered. Asking before I could say a word for a fight. I could tell instantly we were going to get along.”

 

“His name is Feuilly, but yes, he does not trust easily.”

 

“That’s one hell of a name to remember.” Bahorel laughed, his booming chuckle rupturing the silence that usually encased these walls. Enjolras was glad for it. “Anyway, I delivered the letter to your friends, and it was your lover who read it out loud. Your friends didn’t have the time whilst I was there to write you a response, but they wanted me to deliver you words of friendship and well-being. They all miss you dearly.” He paused, before adding in a lower voice. “And they are all planning an escape for you.”

 

Enjolras couldn’t help but feel pride flow through him upon hearing that Grantaire read the letter out loud, before smiling melancholically. “I felt they would. When you have the chance to see them next, request that they share any essential information or details with me. The bare basics, just so I know if they need me to play any part in this scheme.”

 

“I will.”

 

Enjolras turned to Bahorel. “What of the letter for Grantaire’s eyes only?”

 

Bahorel smiled reassuringly. “Also safe and delivered. I got him alone and gave it to him then.”

 

“Good. That’s...good.”

 

Bahorel studied Enjolras’ face for moment, plainly seeing the longing and desperation displayed. He placed his hand on Enjolras’ shoulder. “I’ve never seen a man so in love before. His face lit up just by seeing you had crafted a letter for him only. It’s plain to see he misses you like nothing else.”

 

Pain crossed Enjolras’ face at that thought. The hand on Enjolras’ shoulder tightened. “And how...How is he?”

 

Bahorel looked Enjolras straight in the eyes. “I will not lie. He does not look well at all. He appeared to have not slept at all, and you were right about him having more alcohol in his veins than blood. He tried his hardest to look sober but I could see he was swaying.”

 

Enjolras nodded. “When things get bad he can sometimes develop a dependency on liquor. I’m not surprised. But the letter. How did he take it?”

 

Bahorel’s eyes crinkled in the corners as he smiled knowingly at Enjolras. “You did not tell me you were asking to meet him in the ballroom. That is a bold plan.”

 

Enjolras could feel his cheeks heat up. As much as he trusted Bahorel, he had intended this plan to be for Grantaire and Grantaire alone. He had not meant to deceive his newfound friend. But asking him to deliver letters was one thing, with Bahorel not being able to read he could have at least played dumb if caught by other palace guards.  Asking him to go behind the King to have him meet his lover however; this was treason. Plain and simple.

 

“I… I did not want to involve you in something that could get you killed.” 

 

Once again the sound of Bahorel’s laughter filled the room. “Now what is the fun in that?” He said, smiling at Enjolras sympathetically. “Come now. You should know when I swear my word by something I swear it with the force of a thousand men. Besides, how exactly were you planning to meet without your chaperone.”

 

Enjolras looked away embarrassedly. In fact he hadn’t thought that far, his passion and determination had driven him to write the words without thinking of the consequences of what they meant. Perhaps it was the stifling and boring air in this room that was making him commit to stupid mistakes. He wrote from the heart and did not censor his words. He wished to meet with his lover, and he wanted Grantaire to know that. 

 

“Enjolras,” Bahorel continued seriously, forcing him to look at him as he spoke. “You needn’t worry. I’ve already sworn to Grantaire I would do this for you. Do not say I have to swear it to you as well. Although I would, swearing to folks is not half as fun as cursing at them. In fact it can get quite tiring.”

 

Enjolras shook his head. “No, your word to Grantaire is as good as your word to myself. I’m sorry, Bahorel. I’m afraid… It’s this tower and this situation. It’s making me second guess everything and everyone. I’m ashamed to say that does not exclude you.”

 

Bahorel clapped a supportive hand upon Enjolras’ back, the look on his face was grim. “You would be a fool not to second guess. This castle is filled with snakes and demons masquerading as tulips and butterflies. Thankfully for you, your trust is not misplaced in me. But I warn you, especially when the King begins to grant you access to other areas in the castle- be careful who you talk to, and what you say.”

 

“I will. You are the only one in this new situation I trust wholeheartedly.” Enjolras’ gaze drifted once more to the windowsill. “ As for the rest, we will have to see what the future holds.”

* * *

  
  


_ Within the week. Within the week. Within the week. _

 

Bahorel had given him his word that he would be able to arrange a meeting within the week. Barely a day had passed and already Grantaire was growing impatient and worried. In theory, it had sounded so simple; meeting within an empty room with nobody around except themselves. Now however, after Grantaire had struggled against sleep for the majority of the night, the task seemed infinitely impossible. They would need an excuse for Enjolras to leave his lodgings, Enjolras would have to be accompanied wherever he went, and if the guard stationed was not Bahorel then the plan would fall apart. They would need to make it a time when Grantaire could attend, as since his escape from the kitchens and into an inn the kitchen master had been watching him like a hawk, and working him harder than ever. 

 

The more Grantaire thought of the complications that arose the more helpless the situation seemed. He was musing about this in the time between lunch and dinner service. His eyes cast darkly over the untouched glass of mead in his hands.

 

“Something is eating you, my friend.” Grantaire blinked in surprise, raising his eyes to be met with Courfeyrac’s, who had sat down across from him without raising his notice. Courfeyrac lowered his voice to barely more than a whisper. “I would have thought after receiving your lover's letter that you would be in high spirits, but you seem lower than ever. What has happened?”

 

Grantaire drew a long and tired breath and dwelled on his melancholy a moment longer before replying.

 

“Courfeyrac, the only thing worse than having no hope at all is having hope dangled in your face before being whisked hurriedly away.”

 

“You think Enjolras might have been lying about his treatment from the King?” Courfeyrac asked, concerned and confused. 

 

Grantaire shook his head waving a hand of dismissal. He had forgotten for a moment that the others were not aware of the contents of his personal letter.

 

“Then what?” Courfeyrac pressed. “Tell me so I can perhaps attempt to ease your suffering. I know how you can over complicate issues that are non existent.”

 

Grantaire almost laughed. “This is not one of those times.”

 

“Then what pray tell has happened?”

 

Grantaire took a moment to ponder on what to do. He would have prefered to keep this secret between himself, Enjolras and Bahorel. But the reality of him being able to pull this off without outside help was looking more and more fruitless the longer he thought about it.

 

“Enjolras wrote to me personally and hinted we should attempt to meet in secret. Bahorel has given his word that he help in making this happen, and although I do not doubt his tenacity, it would appear the likelihood of us being able to arrange such a meeting is slim at best.”

 

If Courfeyrac was surprised that Enjolras had written to Grantaire separately his face did not show it. Instead he was instantly focused, a new look of seriousness gracing his usually playful features. 

 

“That does appear to be a predicament. Where on earth would you meet without raising the King’s suspicions anyway?”

 

Courfeyrac listened patiently as Grantaire told him all about the ballroom that stood empty, the significance the room meant to them both and the problems that were currently plaguing Grantaire with immense worry. At the end of all of it, he seemed to be at as much of a loss of what to do as Grantaire was. 

 

“Could there be somewhere else you could meet? Does it have to be the ballroom?”

 

“Name one other place in the castle that stands empty and away from prying eyes. Enjolras is not permitted to leave the castle walls, so anywhere outside of it is out of the question.” Grantaire heaved out a long and heavy sigh before continuing. “Not to mention even if we stick with the idea of the ballroom there is no decent reason the King would believe Enjolras should have to go there. It is not as though he has a passion for dancing... I’m afraid it is hopeless.”

 

Suddenly Courfeyrac’s eyes brightened. His posture straightened and he appeared to be almost bouncing in his seat.

 

“But that  _ is  _ what we can do! It’s so simple!” Courfeyrac said in barely contained excitement. 

 

“What about this is simple?” Grantaire asked with narrowed eyes.

 

“I know!! We can!! It’s just!! It would be!!” Courfeyrac was close to breaking his whisper and Grantaire looked around the room anxiously to make sure they weren’t being overheard or watched.

 

“Courfeyrac, for the sake of the  _ Gods _ , calm down and  _ breathe _ before you speak next.”

 

Courfeyrac obliged him, a grin as wide as the Kingdom itself brimming on his face. He took care to lower his voice and sit still, leaning closely to Grantaire as he spoke.

 

“I heard a rumour from a Minstrel that a ball is going to take place in the coming month! Of course you know it is a squire’s job to educate themselves in many things in case their masters need of it. I have quite the talent for dancing myself- if you follow me.”

 

Grantaire evidently did not follow him. As he looked more lost than ever and shook his head.

  
Courfeyrac continued, his voice almost shaking with excitement. “Enjolras as we know may as well have boulders for feet when it comes to dancing. It would be a shame if the King’s consort could not share a dance with their beloved husband-to-be due to a horrid lack of coordination… And if I were to volunteer myself as teacher-”

 

“-Your lessons would take place in the ballroom!” Grantaire finished with sudden realisation. He felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude flood over him. “Courfeyrac if I weren’t so currently in love I would kiss you full on the lips.”

 

“Settle down my friend, I know I am quite irresistible but please remember your dear Enjolras.”

 

Grantaire laughed with relief. They finally had a way to meet, and it would work well to have the King aware of the lessons, it would make Enjolras’ departures from his tower a lot less suspect. He also couldn’t help feeling a smug sense of victory, arranging such a plan directly under the King’s nose.

 

“It’s just a shame I’m such a terrible teacher.” Courfeyrac continued in mock regret. “Forgetting our appointments and leaving Enjolras in such a large room alone. Whatever will he do with himself?”

 

“I’m sure he’ll find something to occupy the time.” Grantaire murmured happily. It was as though suddenly somebody had turned up the sun. The room seemed to be dancing in brightness.

* * *

“You appear lost in thought. Is something the matter?”

 

Enjolras snapped his head up from where it was staring at the plate of food in front of him, and looked towards the King. They were sitting opposite ends of the table as per usual, with plates of food between them. Even over the past few days, little had changed. Their conversations were still tense, the awkwardness had not shifted and most likely wouldn’t. The only thing different was that the King’s expectation that Enjolras would finish half a plate of food had diminished.

 

“Oh.” Enjolras coughed, attempting to look apologetic. “I must have momentarily lost my head in the clouds. Were you saying something?”

 

“No, no. I was only concerned that something was plaguing you. Your beauty needn’t be marred by such an unsightly expression.”

 

Enjolras sighed and shrugged. “No, your majesty. Nothing is troubling me.” Of course, this was a lie, but the King seemed to be easily fooled as he smiled back at him..

 

“I have told you, you may call me Villenc. You are my consort, not a servant.”

 

“Hm.” Enjolras replied noncommittally, his gaze dropping back down to the food he had in front of him, which was barely picked. His appetite was dropping since being the consort, and it hadn’t returned. And in his current anxious state, it was worsening; he had barely touched his food. He could not stop thinking on it. He had been foolish, trying to arrange a meeting with Grantaire that was surely unlikely to happen. Now Bahorel was involved in the scheme as well, which only made it the more dangerous. If any of them were caught they would all be dead before the sun set.

 

All he needed at this current moment was to see Grantaire for just one more time. Say the goodbyes that were still resting on the tip of his tongue. Have some form of closure. He hoped that his instincts that they could pull off such a plan would be fruitful, but they had no semblance of a structure of which to abide with. The logistics were not set. They didn’t even have a starting point.

 

It was beginning to look impossible.

 

“Are you lying to me, Enjolras?” The King spoke up again. “You do not have to. What kind of partner would I be if you could not tell me whatever you were thinking?”

 

Enjolras shrugged, and looked back upon the King. It would not do to be developing a plan in front of the man he was trying his hardest to work against. “Like I said, nothing is the matter. Everything is fine.”

 

The King chuckled. “Then engage me in conversation. Maybe that will remove the frown from your face.”

 

“Maybe,” Enjolras said. 

 

Enjolras had blanked. There was absolutely nothing civil he wished to discuss with the royal. The only thing he was comfortable talking about was issues that the servants and the commoners wished to raise. He had to be careful approaching those topics however, mentioning them outright would not work in his favour. He did not even have a past conversation with the King to draw upon, past breakfasts have never had idle conversations between the King’s pleasantries and Enjolras’ subtle mentions of problems that had to be resolved. 

 

“What do you wish to talk about?” He said finally, giving up trying to come up with a concept on his own.

 

The King smiled. “How are you finding life here in the higher floors? It is certainly an improvement to your life as a servant, no?”

 

It wasn’t. Under the table he clenched his fists and fought back anger, but the King only saw a tentative smile. “It’s certainly different to say the least.” He said carefully. “I’ve never been so inactive in my life. Sure, the lifestyle is certainly more luxurious, but I’ve also never been so, let’s say, lonely. There isn’t much for me to do.”

 

“Isn’t that the point?” The King replied. “You should learn to relax and let others take care of matters. Fill your head with less troublesome things. I would not be treating you the way you deserve if I forced you to work your fingers to the bone.” He paused, his face struck with small regret. “I apologise if you are feeling lonely, however. I’m afraid you cannot be at my side constantly. I have my duties to attend to. As much as I would like you to be, the council views these matters as private. Until-... well, if we  _ are _ to be married, then they would permit you to sit in.”

 

“I...I am not asking for that.” Enjolras backtracked. “I understand that you are busy, of course, and I would not want to spend all day by your side. It is just, difficult, to be restricted to the tower. To have no one to speak to and nothing to do.”

 

The King hummed as he considered his response. “My desire was to ease you into this life. I did not want to bombard you with lords and ladies instantaneously as I was afraid the immediate attention would exhaust you. I can see now that that has only made you feel alone, and for that I apologise. You are able to wander the upper levels of the castle, I would not wish to try to stop you. And the ladies and high husbands would feel honoured to engage you in inane conversation. In fact from what I hear from the Lord’s they are already requesting your company.”

 

Enjolras was tempted to roll his eyes. It was incredibly unlikely he’d ever want to speak with such characters of his own volition. “Yes, of course. Thank you.”

 

“And what of the things provided for you?” The King asked, it was apparent he was eager to change the subject to more positive things. “I can see the servants have done a remarkable job with styling your hair. It was radiant enough before but it positively shines now. You’ll be the beacon of light in any room, no one will be able to look away. I certainly can’t.”

 

Enjolras didn’t know how to respond to that. Dealing with the King’s constant compliments was not something he expected he’d have to prevail through. But it was certainly something he would have to get better at. The King was continuously kind and courteous towards him. It was odd.  He was...Well- a lot more amicable than pictured. “Thank you.” Was all he could think to say.

 

“The curls suit you.”

 

“Thank you.” Enjolras repeated, feeling duller by the moment.

 

With a relieved smile, the King took some time to eat some more of his second plate. Enjolras looked down at his own still full with food. He’d hardly bitten into anything, so to busy his hands more than anything he cut a small sliver of meat and ate that. He lost himself in thought again, far too easily. If Bahorel could manage to escort him down to the ballroom without the King suspecting anything, which was highly unlikely, how would Grantaire be able to get up there without the Kitchen Master noticing? Bahorel’s shifts changed too, so a plan that took place would prove fruitless if his counterpart was on duty when they arranged it. There would have to be a lot of Bahorel going back and forth to coordinate, which he was sure would only raise suspicions. Security too, it was incredibly risky, not to mention high treason. He had to think on it further.

 

“I must also say, that outfit is ravishing on you as well. The colour is stunning.” Enjolras looked down at himself, the royal blue shirt against the dark trousers. “Remind me to honour the dressmakers, they have really shown they know how to accentuate your gorgeous figure.” Enjolras blushed, and chose not to say anything, so the King continued on. “I shall ask them to produce some more, with some more variety as well. Besides, you have need of an outfit appropriate for a ball. I shall send for the others when I send for that.”

 

Enjolras paused in the middle of cutting another piece of his food. “I’m sorry, a ball?”

 

“Oh yes,” The King put down his utensils and looked back at Enjolras. “There is to be a ball within the coming months. Of course, you are to be the honoured guest as it is your first ball as my consort.” Enjolras blinked, but no words came to him at that statement. “I will make sure it is an unforgettable experience for you. Are you excited?”

 

“Yes.” He lied. “That sounds _ grand _ .” Enjolras bit his tongue and chastised himself for letting his voice waiver on the verge of sarcasm. The last thing he needed right now was to raise the King’s temper. That is- if the King had a temper. Come to think of it he could not recall a time where he had heard him raise his voice. Nevertheless, Enjolras knew it unwise to poke a sleeping bear.

 

“One of the Lords have informed me their squire has already volunteered themselves to be your formal dance instructor.” The King said, either purposely ignoring or not hearing Enjolras’ tone. “I dare say you must not have much practise in the art of dance?”

 

Enjolras ignored the King’s question, his attention was suddenly focused and his heart seemed to be beating fast. “A squire has volunteered themselves to teach me?”

“Yes, it would appear that news travels with or without my permission in this Castle.” The King chuckled. He sounded almost fond of his villagers passion for spreading gossip and rumours. “It is of no concern to me if it means less work in finding you a teacher.”

 

“Did they say their name?”

 

The King raised an eyebrow. “I do not remember who it was who told me. It does not matter either way, does it?”

 

“Of course not!” Enjolras exclaimed, his mind whirring with possibilities. “I was just wondering if they were familiar, that is all.”

 

He started to smile, pieces already beginning to click in his head.

 

Courfeyrac. He was the only squire who would ever volunteer to dance with anyone, especially Enjolras. The others were much too self important and arrogant in their opinions of others, especially those who were lower servants- becoming the King’s consort meant nothing to them, he knew they still looked down on him. 

 

Courfeyrac wouldn’t have just volunteered to teach him for a ball that he knew Enjolras would despise either, not even just to spend time with him. But dancing lessons; they would automatically take place in the ballroom, the only place away from others. A private sanctuary.

 

Sometimes his friends were  _ much _ too smart for their own good.

 

“I assume the thoughts of dance lessons appeases you?” The King asked, an amused grin playing on his lips. “I’ve never seen you smile like that.”

 

“Oh.” Enjolras looked back at the King. He forgot he was there for a moment. He needed to play this off, quickly so as to not draw suspect. He continued to smile. “It does, actually. It excites me that I’ll have something to do for the day, and uhm…” He paused, trying to think of something to say. “And that I won’t embarrass myself at the ball. I was admittedly nervous when you announced it. My dancing leaves a lot to be desired, and considering I am the  _ honoured guest, _ ” He said with a smallest, most untraceable amount of vitriol in his tone, “It would not do to be watched upon yet foolish in my steps.”

 

The King looked contemplative for a moment. “Yes, it wouldn’t. I forget with such a face as yours that you are quick and smart also. I am surprised the whole Kingdom hasn’t fallen for you.” Enjolras was glad to be smiling at the thought of seeing Grantaire again, and if it made it look as though he was content with King Villenc’s compliments as well then all the more for it. “If you are so keen to learn I could employ a professional, who could teach you far better than a squire ever could. You deserve only the best.”

 

Enjolras kept calm at the statement, biting down panic. He could do this, he just needed to work his way through this and think logically. “Your majesty,” He said in the sweetest tone he could muster, “You are far too busy with your duties to be searching for an instructor. You have a squire who has volunteered himself already. Let us not waste days in finding a professional when I could be learning to the Kingdom's dances and more straight away.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“I’m most positive.” He flashed his most charming smile at the King, and purposely ducked his head to look upon him through his lashes. “You do wish to dance with someone graceful at the ball, no?”

 

“Of course.” The King smiled, looking most pleased, a fresh blush upon his cheeks. “Good. Yes.. That’s good. I shall inform the Lord in question of our need to borrow his squire when I see him next. We will see when it is most convenient for the lessons to take place, but I’m sure you’ll have plenty, with the first beginning within the week.”

 

Enjolras positively beamed at the news, all of a sudden feeling a pressure in his chest relieve. He couldn’t believe it; Grantaire must have told Courfeyrac and they had come up with this plan together, and he couldn’t have thought of a more ingenious one. “Thank you.” He said, completely genuinely towards the King. “I shall be looking forward to it! It will be nice to be out of the tower.”

 

“I am sure it will be.” The King replied. 

 

Enjolras couldn’t stop smiling after that, his mind was stuck on a repeating phrase; ‘ _ They have figured it out, I will be seeing my lover once more _ .’ He continued to pick at his food in a daze but after the revelation he paid no attention to what he was eating. He couldn't focus anymore, so he sat there with that serene smile on his face, only vaguely responding to the statements the King made, which were an assortment of more compliments and what was assumedly more talk of the ball.

 

Eventually the chime of the clock towers bell rang in the distance, and the King rose from his seat. “Ah. I am afraid I must take leave. I have a meeting with the high councilmen.”

 

Enjolras nodded, and remained seated. “Right.” The smile had not left his face, not even at the thought of going back to the tower.

 

“I shall see you at dinner then, Fair Enjolras. I shall talk more of the plans for your first ball then?”

 

“Yes, alright.” Enjolras said. Just the thought of the ball was making him giddy now, with how it had come to save him. It was a blessing in disguise, if he had to go through one horrid night of lavishness as a premise to see his lover, he would.

 

He was going to see Grantaire again. He smiled slightly wider at the thought, his head swimming in happiness.

 

He hadn’t noticed that the King had approached him until he was standing right next to him. Enjolras turned his head to face him, and let the King take his right hand in his grasp. Like he had done before, Villenc raised it higher and twisted the palm towards him slowly. He bowed down and pressed a kiss upon his wrist, his lips remaining on the skin for a few seconds before retracting, the King smiling back at Enjolras. “For now,  _ mon trésor _ . I hope the smile I have caused remains until the sun sets.”

 

Enjolras blinked, the dazed smile plastered upon him reluctant to fall. The King seemed to pause for a moment, before a satisfied grin emerged. Villenc gave Enjolras a polite bow, before turning and removing himself from the room.

 

It was only when the door shut that Enjolras felt that delayed sense of pure nausea, where his careless happiness from before prevented any sadness from penetrating. His smile fell and he shivered for a moment, before taking a deep breath. No, he was to see Grantaire again, he was not going to let anything the King had to say or do distract him from that; he wasn’t going to let his pleasantries and compliments affect him. 

 

He rose from his seat and made his way out of the room, the smile rising to his face again as he walked back to his solitude.

 

He was to see his lover again, he knew he could get through anything now.

 

* * *

 

The days before their meeting seemed to drag on and on. Courfeyrac’s newly accepted title of Enjolras’ dance instructor had spread widely throughout the castle, and Grantaire often half caught lowly spoken whispers of rumours about the ball. It seemed that half of the staff were still in denial that the King had taken a servant to marry. The fact that he had officially announced a ball to celebrate this now seemed to have finally cemented the truth for them. Grantaire shook the sympathetic looks other serving staff gave him with the knowledge that they would not look at him so pathetically if they knew what was really going to occur in his lessons. He did not need their pity, what he needed was their solidarity.

 

Instead, he kept his head down low, worked harder than usual under the Kitchen Master’s watchful eye. Not raising anymore suspicion to himself and trying best to hold his tongue. 

 

When the sun had set and he found himself alone in the bed they used to share, unable to sleep and restless in the dark, he would take to Enjolras’ old writing desk. There he laid out things he knew, and things that were imperative to find out if they were to succeed in overthrowing the King. His writing was slow and uneven, but the more he did so the quicker and more determined his hand became.

 

Currently the list of unknown things was significantly longer than the ones they knew. But this did not discourage him. The only thing that worried him greatly was the timing. If they knew when the King planned to marry Enjolras they could plan to a deadline. But without this knowledge they were just mice scurrying blindly amongst the sewers. Without this date, Enjolras was in danger.

 

Grantaire did eventually succumb to sleep at night, but it was due to his body being too exhausted to hold off any longer, rather than his mind willingly giving him peace. His slumber was fragile and broken, and he always awoke halfway before the sunrise. Unable to fall back into it, he would crouch on the floor to the small chest that Enjolras and he shared to keep their possessions. Now, with Enjolras taking most of his items with him to the tower, it was almost empty.

 

Or at least- it appeared to be.

 

Beneath the wooden base lay a secret, hidden compartment, that not even Enjolras had known about. It was here that Grantaire kept his notes on what he knew and where he would be keeping his future plans for revolution. It was also here he kept the memories of his parents, and the last letter that they left to him before their untimely death.

 

Unlike Enjolras’ parents, Grantaire’s own were not worthy of public memory. They were not made out as scapegoats for a failed revolution, they were not executed in front of the public, they were not well loved or documented by the townsfolk. But they had shared a similarity with Enjolras’ mother and father. They had also both fought to overthrow the King, and they had also both died at his hands. Killed upon the Knights swords during the final battle where the commoners failed.

 

Grantaire had not been able to read their letter before he came to live with Enjolras. And once Enjolras had taught his mind how to turn markings into letters and letters into words, he had only deemed to read it once. Their naive musings for a better future read like failure to him, left him in bitterness and anger that they had abandoned him in death for a lost cause. But once Enjolras been lost to him, he reread their old words, and it had given him a strange nostalgic comfort, as though he was remembering a soft and calming voice from days gone by. And instead of feeling acidity and pain from their prospects, he now found hope.

  
  


Eventually, the day finally came.

 

“Perhaps arranging to meet was unwise, Courfeyrac.” Grantaire mumbled, fiddling with the hem on his tunic.

 

“My, my. Are my ears deceiving me, or are you uneasy to see your lover?” Courfeyrac teased, his eyes filling with glee.

 

“It would be foolish not to fear the wrath of the King.” Grantaire replied gravely, purposely looking away from his friends obnoxious smile.

 

Courfeyrac gave a knowing chuckle. “I don’t think that it is the King that plagues your mind currently.” 

 

Grantaire swallowed the nervous ball that had been growing in the back of his throat. Truthfully, there had been an apprehension gnawing at him at the prospect of seeing Enjolras again. Their absence had not quite been long enough for Enjolras to forget the small details of his face, but Grantaire’s face was not an easy one to love. Perhaps the distance and the separation had given Enjolras time to come to his senses? 

 

The unmistakable sound of the large ballroom doors opening snapped Grantaire out of his self deprecating wonderings and he took an instinctive step backwards. 

 

Courfeyrac gripped his arm, and lowered his voice. “Just stay for a moment until I can say for sure it’s just Enjolras and Bahorel. He warned me he had no guarantee it would be his shift.” 

 

Grantaire gave a curt nod, a nauseous trepidation swirling in his stomach as Courfeyrac stepped out from the small room and into the main dance hall. 

 

Hearing Courfeyrac call out Enjolras’ name in glee electrified him with a combination of hopeful anticipation and breathlessness. 

 

But hearing Enjolras’ voice reply- that struck him straight through the heart. He hadn’t realised just how much he’d missed the way he enunciated certain letters. The smooth melody of his words, somehow lingering between soft spoken and firm. Hearing Enjolras’ voice only reminded him of the fact that Enjolras was only a wall away, and gave him a sudden furious desire to tear down each individual brick to get to him. 

 

Instead he steeled himself. Waiting for Courfeyrac’s cue, his breath catching slightly in his throat. 

 

Why on earth was Courfeyrac taking so long with idle conversation? Though mere seconds were passing it could have been days stretching out as far as Grantaire was concerned. 

 

Finally, behind the doorway he heard a sharp, summoning whistle- Courfeyrac’s cue that it was all clear for him to emerge. Despite his anticipation and impatience, Grantaire was caught, and hesitated for a moment. His hand gripping the handle tightly.

 

He fortified himself by remembering the words in Enjolras’ letter. With a strengthening breath he pushed the doors open with more might than necessary, and entered the ballroom.

 

Grantaire did not see the detailed awnings and shining floors that left most breathless and awed. His vision was captivated by Enjolras, and Enjolras only. He was here, his hair was styled, his face powdered and strangely shining, his clothes lavish and tight, but he was here. 

 

He did not feel his legs carry him over to Enjolras or remember his mind telling them to do so, but suddenly they were together, and embracing; tightly and unapologetically, neither of them wanting to let go of the other. An outsider would have guessed they had been parted for a century and not a mere week. Grantaire ran his hands through Enjolras’ hair. The slick products gracing it felt foreign to him, but it didn’t dampen the comfort he felt by doing so. He didn’t realise he was crying until Enjolras parted their touch, and lowered his head within his hands, wiping the tears away with his thumb.

 

“I’m here.” Enjolras said, soft and calming, and Grantaire could not help but throw his arms tightly around him once more.

 

He felt a fool for crying. It was Enjolras that he was meant to be comforting not the other way around, but he had been bottling up so many things, and seeing Enjolras once more sent them all pouring out.

 

“I’m just so glad to see you.” Grantaire said finally once his resolve had calmed, placing a hand upon his cheek and staring into his eyes as though he could not believe he was really there. “I thought I had lost you.”

 

“Perhaps we should give these two some space.” A voice said close to him. Grantaire snapped his head around to see Courfeyrac grinning unbearably and Bahorel standing awkwardly beside him. 

 

Grantaire had forgotten they were in the room.

 

“Thank you both. For everything. I didn’t doubt that you would pull this together.” Enjolras spoke before he had a chance. “But.. Umm, if you don’t mind.”

 

“Say no more” Bahorel said lifting his hand and closing his other arm around Courfeyrac’s shoulders, leading him away. “As always, I am at your service. Should you need anything, just shout.”

 

“Be sure you don’t shout for other reasons! As much as I love you, that is a sight that I do not want to see.” Courfeyrac called as he disappeared with Bahorel into the room Grantaire had been waiting in before.

 

Grantaire could not stop smiling. Enjolras was here, and he was safe within his arms, even though he was safe only temporarily, there was no other feeling like it. Enjolras gestured his head towards a staircase to their right. Grantaire happily led him there, yearning his touch once more as they sat upon the bottom step.

 

“You look different.” Grantaire said, he knew he should not look pleased at this but he couldn’t help it.

 

“I hate it. I do not feel like myself.” Enjolras cringed, pinching a cluster of curls. “Every time the servants curl my hair like this or powder my face I can hardly bear it. And the clothes are just plain uncomfortable, they’re incredibly tight. But you look different as well. You have not been sleeping.” It wasn’t a question.

 

Grantaire brushed away Enjolras’ worry by placing a small kiss upon his cheek.

 

“You would be proud, either that or you will die of shock. I have been planning.”

 

“I’ve always been proud of you.” Enjolras said gently cradling his cheek as Grantaire closed his eyes and leant into his touch. “But I worry as well. You need to be sleeping.”

 

“I cross my heart that I will look fresh eyed and well rested for you next week.”

 

Enjolras regarded him sadly before dropping his hand to Grantaire’s knee and sighing.

 

“I fear this may be the only time we will be able visit.” 

 

A cold and horrible anxiety pressed around Grantaire’s throat. “Why must it be?” He said trying not to let his voice grow higher. “Courfeyrac has told me you are to have lessons twice a week until the ball. You do not think the King would want to watch?”

 

“No, no. He is much too busy for such a thing.” Enjolras said quickly, squeezing Grantaire’s knee in comfort. “I just mean… He and his council will begin to grow suspicious if I continue going to lessons but cannot dance at the ball. I don’t want any kind of punishment hanging over Courfeyrac’s head.”

 

Grantaire laughed in relief and rose to his feet, causing Enjolras to give him a startled look.

 

“My love,” Grantaire said looking fondly down upon him and extending an open palm. “There will be no punishment for our dear friend. You have the greatest dance teacher in history in this very room.”

 

Enjolras’ eyes brightened as understanding reached them, and he smiled graciously up at Grantaire, before taking his hand and being turned swiftly to the center of the room. For the first time since his abrupt departure, Enjolras found himself laughing freely. The sounds of it vibrated against the empty walls and filled Grantaire’s heart with so much joy.

 

Grantaire took him through the basic steps, and for an hour, everything seemed normal, as though their meeting was not forbidden. They smiled and laughed and bickered and touched. Enjolras stepped upon Grantaire’s feet a countless amount of times. But Grantaire never cringed nor frowned nor berated. He merely basked in happiness in the room that held nothing but the two of them, and nothing of their problems. Eventually Enjolras fell into a comfortable rhythm, and he was no longer learning with Grantaire, but dancing with him.

 

“Enjolras?” Grantaire finally said, his smile dropping and his tone becoming serious. “I do not want our limited time together to be plagued with worry and melancholy. But there is something imperative I need to ask you in order to rescue you.” Enjolras’ smile slowly faded, and although it was killing Grantaire to see this expression take Enjolras’ face, he knew he must persist if they had any chance of success. “Has the King told you a date in which he intends to marry you?”

 

Enjolras looked away from him quickly. His silence seemed to be coated in guilt and hesitation. Grantaire held on tighter to Enjolras’ waist and kept them dancing.

 

_ Turn, forward step, side step, turn. _

 

“We are- We are not marrying… For now.”

 

“For now?”

 

“The King has promised me a courtship that will last for only six months. Then I am free to leave.”

 

Grantaire frowned, his stomach turning. He faltered on his feet and almost stepped on Enjolras’ new, incredibly expensive and luxurious shoes. He quickly turned them, trying to hide his mistake. For some reason unbeknownst to him the thought of the King and Enjolras courting was more unbearable than that of them marrying. His traitorous mind was already conjuring up the images he had never wished to see; Enjolras finally being wooed by another.

 

“Forgive me. I am confused.” Grantaire said. He swallowed in a vain attempt to keep his voice steady. It felt like ashes and burning against his throat. “Why does he want to court you for only six months? Is this a game for him?”

 

Enjolras shook his head as Grantaire led them through a more complicated move, pushing Enjolras away with one hand and then pulling him back in close. His other hand meeting his waist once more. 

 

“His affections are completely sincere, as far as I can tell.”

 

“Then why not just marry you?”

 

_ Turn, spin, switch directions. _

 

“He is attempting to win me over.” Enjolras said, before adding quickly. “A futile attempt. He promises not to marry me without my blessing. He is falsely confident that he will succeed in six months time. I had no power to deny him this, as he foolishly made some assumptions that were incorrect… Assumptions I feel I am partly to blame for. He told me this; if in six months I am still, let’s say, indifferent to his feelings, he will let me return to the life I knew before. Let me return to you.”

 

Grantaire’s tongue felt heavy against his mouth as he let this information sink in. On one hand, six months gave them a lot of time to prepare, and a lot of time to finesse details that could save their lives come the battle. However on the other hand… 

 

Would Enjolras still love him in six months? 

 

A King had a lot of things he could offer Enjolras that Grantaire could not, especially if he was trying to woo him. Grantaire was no fool. He knew most of the things the King had to offer, Enjolras had no interest in. Jewels, food, luxury; Enjolras cared naught. But there was one thing that the King could give him that Enjolras would want more than anything.

 

Small and large freedoms for their people.

 

If the King could offer Enjolras that even in the smallest of doses… Grantaire was not sure if Enjolras would be able to say no. Would even  _ want _ to say no. Even if it meant losing Grantaire. Enjolras would do anything for the betterment of the people, and if the King realised that, he could exploit it.

 

“Do you feel that the King will uphold his promise?” It was all Grantaire could say. To voice his other concerns would surely make things unpleasant.

 

Enjolras looked down at his feet, which were still moving perfectly in tune with Grantaire’s steps.

 

_ Back step, spin, side step, turn. _

 

“He has kept his word for everything thus far. I cannot do much but hope. Even if he doesn’t, we can keep 6 months as an aiming point. Gods know that royal weddings take a ridiculous amount of time. The last one in this kingdom took over a year to prepare for. We have time.”

 

“And what of the council? Do they approve of the King’s ‘ _ mercy _ ’”

 

Enjolras frowned. “I am still trying to work out exactly how much influence they have on his decisions. I feel as though they may be the real enemy we need to defeat. Although, at the end of the day I believe it is still his final decision.”

 

“You think him a scapegoat for them?”

 

“Perhaps. They seem to be in his ear day and night. I do not think he’s ever made a decision that they haven’t influenced in some way.”

 

“Including loving you?” Grantaire said. He had stopped completely in his tracks. The room had been spinning of it’s own accord from the beginning of the conversation, their incessant movement was not helping him.

 

Enjolras looked at him for a very long time. Grantaire was able to see many things reflected in his eyes; pain, regret, fear, worry… But mainly he saw love, and this and only this was enough to make him feel foolish for doubting even for a second that Enjolras could toss him aside for a King.

 

“What  _ we _ have is love.” Enjolras said finally. “He does not love me. I have taken his fancy. There is a difference. His is fleeting and weak yet ours lasts and prevails. And once the red roses are removed from his eyes and he is forced to see my thorns, he will grow tired of me.”

 

Grantaire scoffed. “That’s impossible.”

 

“Come now.” Enjolras said with a soft smile, tilting Grantaire’s chin down to meet his gaze. “I am loud, and annoying. I need to be alone at times or I become snappy. I am cold to those who are cruel and I will not try to hide that coldness.”

 

“Not to mention you are messy as a child.” Grantaire mumbled. A fond smile had crept upon his face.

 

“That as well.” Enjolras said with a small chuckle. Lifting himself upon his tiptoes and pulling Grantaire in towards him he kissed him softly. He did not relent. Soft and passionate and slow and fast. They were one, a frozen centerpiece in the middle of the empty room. 

 

A bell tolled somewhere distant in the Kingdom and they both jumped suddenly when they heard the noise of a door creaking open. Grantaire instinctively grabbed Enjolras’ hand and pulled him behind him, only to relax when he saw Courfeyrac and Bahorel sheepishly enter the room.

 

“I’m sorry Enjolras.” Courfeyrac said. He sounded it too.

 

“It’s time to go.” said Bahorel.

 

Grantaire looked back to Enjolras, who had been so strong for so long, but now it looked as though he was about to break. 

 

“Listen to me.” Grantaire said embracing him tightly once more. “Enjolras, this is not goodbye.”

 

“No.” Enjolras said with a sniff. “But that does not make it any less hard. Every moment I spend in that tower makes it harder to be without you.”

 

Grantaire gave him one last squeeze before pulling away. “I know.” He said sadly. 

 

His heart felt as though it was being pulled in two.

 

Looking down at Enjolras he smiled sadly and wiped a tear away from his face with his thumb, mirroring the way Enjolras had done so to him earlier. The tear stain cut a line down Enjolras’ powdered face, his true skin showing underneath. Slowly, Grantaire leant down to give him one last kiss.

 

It felt shorter than it was. Their lips desperately aching for each other, as though to part them would be to poison them both. They parted slowly, fingers lingering over hips and necks, before they came to sides. Tears fell, voices shook with unwanted goodbyes, heartfelt words lingered in the air. When they finally made their separate ways, Enjolras with Bahorel and Grantaire with Courfeyrac, Grantaire couldn’t help but feel the emptiness encase him once more. As he looked behind him at Enjolras’ back, he knew tonight would be no exception from the last few; Sleep would not come easy.

* * *

Enjolras was lost in movement, in rhythm, in bliss. The memories of Grantaire’s touch on his skin, his firm hand clutching his waist, his soft lips pressed against his own. It was spinning Enjolras and keeping him grounded all at once. 

 

His feet carrying him through the steps Grantaire had taught him. The ghost of his lover’s arms around him, his memory replaying the moments passed as he hummed himself a soft tune.

 

A sharp knock came on the door snapping Enjolras out of his serene memory and stopping in the midst of a turn. He straightened himself up before clearing his throat.

 

“Enter.” He sighed, the illusion dropping as he turned his back to the door.

 

“You have two visitors.” Bahorel said sounding amused. Enjolras wondered if the heavy doors had blocked out the sound of his humming. Evidently not. “One to make sure you are in good health and the other to make sure you are practicing, which I do not doubt.”

 

Enjolras turned around to see Bahorel escorting in both Combeferre and Courfeyrac, the latter beaming at him not unlike the sunbeams streaming through the window. “Oh, my friends.” Enjolras grinned, surprised and elated. “You are here. I was not aware you could come and visit so freely.”

 

Combeferre smiled, placing a medical bag down inside the room. “I took it upon myself as your doctor to perform my duties and come for a checkup. Whilst your friend here-”

 

“I came of my own volition!” Courfeyrac interrupted. “It occurred to me that as your dance instructor I am able to visit to check your progress. I had heard our lovely medic here was going to visit you, and I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to tag along. So here I am.”

 

Enjolras looked upon his friend, and then to Bahorel. Grantaire was still playing on his mind, and he could not easily forget the role they played in bringing them together. He smiled, tears welling in his eyes. An overwhelming sense of gratitude overcame him as he took Courfeyrac into his arms, hugging tightly.

 

“Thank you… Thank you.” Enjolras repeated it countless times, the words slurring into one another. Courfeyrac was evidently taken by surprise as all he could do was pat Enjolras’ back awkwardly. Courfeyrac was usually the one to pull others into an embrace, Enjolras usually the one to avoid it. The sudden shift of dynamics seemed to throw him for a loop.

 

“Whatever for?” Courfeyrac spoke slowly, over Enjolras’ continuous mutterings, the confusion fully shown in his tone.

 

“You were able to arrange it so I could see R again. Your plan was inspired, and for that I now owe you a great deal.  _ Thank you _ .”

 

“Enjolras, please. After all you’ve done for everyone else you don’t owe me a thing. Any friend worth half his salt would do the same.”

 

Enjolras doubted that immensely as he pulled away from his friend. “No. This meant more than anything. Know that Courfeyrac, and you too Bahorel. What you have done for me has meant the world.”

 

Courfeyrac smiled at Enjolras for a brief second, before pulling him into another hug. Enjolras reverted back to repeating his thankfulness again and again.

 

They eventually pulled away, Enjolras quickly making a swipe at his eyes to wipe away any stray tears. He took a deep breath, working to calm himself.

 

“I shall give you all some privacy. I feel you have a lot to talk about.” Bahorel said with an over exaggerated and mocking bow. Courfeyrac chuckled fondly as Bahorel turned and winked at him before taking his leave, shutting the door behind him.

 

“I feel you should know, I wholeheartedly approve of this guard of yours, Enjolras.” Courfeyrac said with enthusiasm.

 

“Well that is a relief.” Enjolras said with a roll of his eyes, his tone becoming lighter. “Without your approval I would have to demand the King provide for me a new one.”

 

“It is good to see this tower has not completely corrupted your sense of humour,.” Courfeyrac said dryly. “No, but I am serious. You’re in impeccable hands. I can attest to this with the hours I spent alone with him. Humourous, handsome and strong- You could swing a man from his biceps. I know because he let me do so myself.”

 

“You spent hours alone with him?” Combeferre asked with guarded curiosity.

 

“I could not very well strut around the castle freely when the whole Kingdom knows I am supposed to be teaching the art of the dance, and Bahorel is not permitted to leave Enjolras’ side whilst on shift. I’m afraid to pull off such a scheme we had to hide in a supply room of the ballroom together.”

 

For once it seemed that Courfeyrac’s attention was far away from Combeferre, as he did not notice the way the Doctor’s face fell upon hearing this. Instead he continued to chatter away.

 

“Well, I apologise I had to inconvenience you.” Enjolras said when Courfeyrac had finished singing Bahorel’s praises. 

 

“Nonsense. It’s no inconvenience with good company.” Courfeyrac dismissed with a wave of his hand.

 

Combeferre cleared his throat. “By the by, I feel as though we should discuss a way for us to meet on the regular, Enjolras.”

 

“That is allowed?” Enjolras asked surprised. He did not think arranging such a thing would be as simple as this.

 

“The King wants you in good health,” Combeferre said with a shrug. “I would not be doing my job if I did not arrange a check up here and then. It would actually look better for myself to be more attentive to your needs than less.”

 

Enjolras felt a ray of hope spark through his heart. With Courfeyrac and Bahorel’s help he was to meet Grantaire on the regular, and now he could see Combeferre as well. Perhaps things were not so dismal? Perhaps six months would not feel so long after all?

 

“I do not know what to say.” He said truthfully. “I had not thought it was a possibility, so I had not dwelled on it.”

 

“Just leave everything in our hands.” Combeferre said kindly. “You have enough plaguing your mind currently.”

 

“I am fully aware.” Enjolras sighed, walking over to sit upon the bed. “I know exactly what troubles me. But if you are able to come visit that already takes away one of those issues; the stifling silence of this room where I am kept when not doing what the King or his Council have permitted for me.”

 

“I would happily do so.” Combeferre replied. “In the meantime, do you think it’s wise to continue meeting with Grantaire? I know it is a hardship to be apart, but is it worth the repercussions?

 

“Bahorel and I were discussing that earlier.” Courfeyrac said. “We feel as though as long as we have a way to guess the schedule of his shifts to the scheduling of my lessons, they can meet safely once a week.”

 

“Yes well, I’m glad we’re taking our advice from  _ the guard,  _ but did it ever occur to you that it is still a huge risk?” Combeferre spoke up, his tone bitter and forceful. “It does not matter how safe it seems for them to meet. You got away with it once based off luck. If the King decides to send somebody to watch or check up on you without warning then all four of you will be caught and charged with treason.”

 

Courfeyrac seemed to falter before replying, confused as to why Combeferre was being so petulant with his words. 

 

“I- I was just about to say we were also discussing the possibility of a look out. One who could give us a verbal warning outside of the door if they suspected someone was coming. I know a boy who has taken Enjolras’ duties for his old master. The poor boy is much out of his depth and I have offered him my lodgings until he can get a better grasp of everything. He could not afford to keep his home in the village once his Grandfather passed. He would be willing to help us to repay the debt.”

 

They discussed the details further and as Courfeyrac described the boy in more detail Enjolras was not surprised that he was out of his depths. His old master had habits and routines and liked his meals and letters in particular ways and times. Enjolras had been raised to serve him with all his quirks treated as normal, but to come in as an outsider? Enjolras felt a wave of empathy for him. He would not last long if he kept his head in the clouds as Courfeyrac described him too. He’d have to be quick witted to pick up on the unspoken cues that Enjolras knew well.

 

Eventually, they both bid him goodnight and departed. As the two of them left Enjolras couldn’t help but notice Combeferre brush past Bahorel with a sour look upon his face. The usual politeness of his mannerisms gone as he did not stop to apologise for running into him, but kept on walking ahead with gusto. 

 

Bahorel was frowning confusedly behind him before turning his attention to Enjolras. “I do not think the Doctor likes me very much.”

 

Enjolras shrugged, he was no fool. He had noticed the looks between Courfeyrac and Combeferre when they had wandered in, and he recognised jealousy just as easily.

 

“He is just upset. Courfeyrac spent half his time in here talking of his fondness of your new friendship, and I have an inkling Combeferre is.. Well, fond of Courf. He did not see Courfeyrac staring upon him when he spoke before.”

 

“Ah!” Bahorel said, understanding and amusement gracing his features. “I do so love being involved in others dramatics. Truly helps one feel alive.”

 

Enjolras smiled and looked down at his lap, his curls falling in front of his face. He was distracted, forgetting his friends dramatics and taking a moment to conjure Grantaire’s face in his mind, the breathless and joyous Grantaire he saw last. The one he wanted to treasure forever. A single laugh escaped him as he flopped backwards, looking up at the ceiling and picturing Grantaire holding him close; Grantaire dancing, Grantaire smiling.

 

“Yes.” Enjolras said in a daze. “It does feel good to be alive.”

 

* * *

 

Things were going surprisingly well for Grantaire since his dancing lesson with Enjolras. It appeared as though seeing Enjolras in person had not only soothed some of the doubts in his mind, but it made his passion wilder and more determined. Thinking of the King dining and wooing Enjolras was enough to make Grantaire see red, and this hatred and anger fueled him to work harder and smarter, to spite and defeat the King. 

 

Upon telling his friends of the King’s plans for Enjolras, their response was varied.

 

“It is a trick. It has to be.” Feuilly said shaking his head in fury, “Six months is enough time to corrupt a mind. He is trying to madden Enjolras or weaken him. There is no way he will accept no for an answer.”

 

“But Enjolras has said he’s been kind to him so far, and he has always been kind to me.” Musichetta reasoned. “Maybe he’s not the one we should be focusing our efforts on. The council sound as though they are a greater threat to our plans.”

 

“People who seem kind at first can be cruel.” Cosette said quietly. Her voice was oddly distant, as though she was remembering something she had pushed away long ago. “Whenever there is a disbalance of power there is cause to suspect.”

 

“Suspect what exactly, though?” Bossuet queried. “Unless we know his motives it will be hard to plan around them.”

 

“What of Enjolras’ wellbeing? It cannot be well for one’s peace of mind to stay locked away for so long.” Joly said anxiously, “Even if we have 6 months to prepare, will Enjolras be well enough to save by then?”

 

“You’ve been awfully quiet, R.” Jehan said after a while. The others lulled their conversations to a halt at Jehan’s words. It was true, since telling them of Enjolras’ revelation Grantaire had not said a word, merely listened to his friends points. “This is unlike you. Surely you have an opinion?”

 

Grantaire took a moment to straighten in his seat. He was not used to having all eyes upon him, captivated, he was still adjusting to the expectations of this role. 

 

“I say we prepare until we are ready to bring them down, or until they force our hand. We go on planning as though there is a wedding. The day we trust the word of the King is the day we lose to him.”

 

There were murmurs of agreement and even a few “Hear, hear!’s” voiced across the room. Having this many people agree with him was certainly odd. He usually held the most controversial or debated opinion in the room. Grantaire was not quite sure if he liked this new sensation yet. It felt strangely like a mix between pride and camaraderie. He wasn’t sure if there was a word for it but he was sure that it was likely that Enjolras felt this way often.

 

“I will tell you one thing now, Grantaire.” Jehan continue. “You will need more than half a room full of the castle’s staff on your side if you intend for us to succeed.”

 

Grantaire nodded solemnly. He had been dreading this part, the part where he had to convince others to fight on his behalf. His friends were one thing, but strangers? He could never string together the right words amongst strangers, and often succumbed to poor and horrid jokes to fill the unbearable gaps.

 

“I don’t know… This isn’t really-”

 

“We understand, R,” Feuilly said rising from his chair. “I know this is not exactly your strength. But I do know someone who can help us.”

 

“Enjolras?” Grantaire asked, and saw Feuilly’s lips twitch in an almost smile.

 

“Well yes, he could. But he is not exactly accessible at this point in time.” Feuilly cleared his throat continuing. “There is an older man who lives on the edge of the town. He is quite sick, but do not let this fool you as it has fooled the Castle. His words hold so much power. He helped initiate the first rebellion.”

 

“That’s impossible.” Grantaire frowned. “If he was so influential then how is he not dead today?”

 

Feuilly smiled at him as though he held a secret. “As I said, the castle is fooled. They believe him harmless on his deathbed. But I know better. He’s been pulling strings behind the King’s back since before we were born. Enjolras managed to develop some form of communication with him to discuss issues that the commoners faced, I was the middle-man for their letters. He can and will help us.”

 

Grantaire looked at Feuilly skeptically. He did not doubt Feuilly, as the man could not speak a dishonest word, but it sounded awfully unlikely to be true to Grantaire.

 

“You don’t believe me?” Feuilly said sounding amused. “Meet him yourself and you will see.”

 

“I think I might.” Grantaire smirked accepting the challenge. “Will he accept a visit tonight?”

 

“My friend, if you arrive to spit upon the King he would accept you any time of day.”

 

“Then I will not delay.”

 

“I would like to come with you if I may.” Jehan said rising from his chair. “I feel a late night stroll amongst the village can do wonders for a worried mind, if it’s all the same to you.”

 

“I’d be happy for the company.” Grantaire said with a smile. He was actually relieved. Asking a man apparently imperative in the last rebellion for help in a new rebellion by himself was daunting to say the least. He had a feeling that Jehan’s offer to help was more for the fact that he often heard what people didn’t say aloud, and not for the desire for a walk amongst town.

 

They bid farewell to the others after receiving a name and directions from Feuilly, and left the others to speculate more upon the King’s intentions as they made their way out into the night.

 

The wind was crisp and felt cool against Grantaire’s neck. As he placed his hands within his trouser pockets and breathed in the cool night’s air, he couldn’t help the smile that grew upon his cheeks. The memories of Enjolras’ touch and taste were still warm against his skin. It was the small things that he had to take pleasure in, to prevent him from going mad.

 

“It is good to see you smiling again, R.” Jehan said with sincerity. “I never said this to you before but I have always thought it- Enjolras is good for you.”

 

“Just as long as I’m not bad for him.” Grantaire muttered as they made their way across the dew stained grass. The noise from the village was growing louder as they drew closer.

 

“The worst thing you could do for Enjolras right now would be to doubt yourself.” 

 

Grantaire chuckled, dismissing Jehan’s opinion with a swipe of his hand. “Has anybody ever told you that you are too wise for your own good.”

 

“Too many times to count.” Jehan smiled, before stopping in his tracks and eyeing something in the near distance.

 

Grantaire stopped beside him. He had forgotten that the village would sometimes hold a market at night, to draw in weary travellers and vagabonds who had coin to spare. He could see candlelight dancing over the town and heard the faint sound of laughter and music drifting towards them. 

 

“I have not been to the market in a very long time.” Grantaire mused absentmindedly. “Though I doubt it’s hardly changed.”

  
  


“There is one change.” Jehan said with narrowed eyes, focused on a stall taking up a large section of the marketplace. “It appears some travellers have set up their wares for purchase. They’ve become an almost permanent feature in the marketplace for many weeks now.”

 

Grantaire laughed at the grimness in his tone. “And this upsets you because…?”

 

“I have heard whisperings recently of robberies and swindlers.”

 

“Oh please, Jehan. Do not put any stock into the commoners rumours. This gossip arises every time a traveller comes to town. If we are not careful we will drive them all off with our paranoid suspicions.”

 

Jehan said nothing in reply, merely continued walking onwards. Grantaire followed him, slightly amused.

 

As they passed through the center of the town, it was hard to miss the travellers wares. Large signs were painted, some with words and some with imagery, although the meaning was clear whether literate or not- expensive and fine clothing and furs for unmissable prices. 

 

Grantaire raised an eyebrow as he walked past the store, something awry catching his eye immediately. 

 

"On second thought Jehan, perhaps you should be more trustful with your instincts.”

 

Jehan looked at Grantaire with confusion before eyeing the clothing once more and letting out a small gasp.

 

"Those prices! For silk and furs that is incredibly modest… But those are not silk!  And if that fur comes from a bear as they so claim I shall eat my own toe!”

 

Grantaire laughed heartily at Jehan’s indignation.“Come, Jehan. If you are stupid enough to believe a rabbit’s fur is made from bear you deserve to be swindled.”

 

Jehan shook his head stubbornly. “Not everyone has been warranted the same education as you and I, Grantaire. Least of all the villagers who are no doubt spending their hard earned coin on this mockery of a stall.”

 

“Fine, fine. I agree. Can we go now? An old dying man apparently awaits our revolution.”

 

“No we cannot go now!” Jehan said with distaste. “I knew they were robbing these poor folks. I just know they’re behind the other thieveries that have been occurring as well. Somebody should have the decency to put a stop to this.”

 

It appeared that that somebody was meant to be Jehan, he spent only a moment pondering to himself before nodding firmly as though a spark had been lit, and before Grantaire could object he had marched himself over to the front of the stall. A dark haired and bored looking young man was lounging behind the bench. The moment Jehan approached his store however he straightened, and graced them with a charming smile.

 

“Hello.” The man said with a voice like honey. “See anything you fancy?”

 

“These are quite high prices you are asking for.” Jehan said in response. To Grantaire’s surprise his tone was friendly and light, as though he was about to barter with the gentleman.

 

“Ah, yes. The price we pay for good fashion is alas, high. But it is a worthy price to pay for luxury, and I would dare say that these prices are actually considered more than fair for the fabrics I provide.”

 

“I would say these garments would suit more the royal court than a commoner like myself.” Jehan said with a small blush.

 

Grantaire was incredibly confused. But he had known Jehan for far too long to interrupt and question him. 

 

Jehan could be more cunning than all of them combined.

 

“Do not undersell yourself, sweet thing.” The merchant said with a flirtatious smile. “I believe you could suit anything. I tell you what. More to the fact I think you would look rather dashing wearing my clothes, I will lower the price, only for you.”

 

Jehan pretended to ponder on this a moment. “I don’t think I want to wear these garments.”

 

“Well you don’t have to wear garments at all to look dashing.”

 

“Enough with the sweet talk.” Jehan said, his voice firm and determined. “You have something I want.” 

 

The man was obviously taken by surprise. But he smiled suddenly and cleared his throat. “Well I didn’t expect you to be so direct, but if you’d like to go somewhere private-”

 

“You’re selling fake fabrics masked as the real thing for higher prices than the court allows. A crime that the King has deemed high enough to warrant losing a hand over.”

 

“Wait-” The merchant said, suddenly confused.

 

“Furthermore, I’ve seen you.  _ You _ hang about with those other new travellers. As you already know they’ve been betting with loaded dice in some of our less than favourable establishments.”

 

“Now just one moment-”

 

“Not only has gambling been forbidden in this town for three decades, but gambling a fixed game? The King doesn’t take too kindly to being cheated out of his taxes. I hope you’re not too attached to your other hand.”

 

“You have the gall to insult my garments with what you are wearing?” The man behind the stall sighed and rolled his eyes, he sat in a sulky silence for a moment before speaking once more. “What do you want?”

 

“Quite bluntly sir, it is obvious to myself, and it will grow obvious to the people here the longer you stay that you and your friends are the ones causing these problems. If you do not want an angry mob on your soon to be cut off hands I suggest you put your so called skills to a better use.”

 

“A better…? You’re not going to ask me to stop robbing people?” He asked suspiciously.

 

“No I’m not. I’m merely proposing you rob the people deserving of it.”

 

“You want me to rob the people in the castle?”

 

“No. I want you to rob the King. Preferably, of his life.”

 

The man laughed and looked at Jehan with curiosity. “Surely you cannot be serious.”

 

“Are you willing to bet a hand on it?”

 

The man seemed to be seriously considering it, his eyes never leaving Jehan’s as though trying to call his bluff. 

 

“You will not be working alone.” Jehan continued. “We merely need some outside help.”

 

“And if we refuse?”

 

Jehan shrugged, purposely entwining his fingers to accentuate his hands. He was attempting to look nonchalant, but Grantaire could tell he was pleased with himself. 

 

“You have a sharper tongue than I imagined.” The man said with a smirk. “I suppose if you are forcing my hand then I must. Besides, your King’s crown is rather pretty, I myself have always wanted one.”

 

He held out his hand and Jehan shook it.

 

“Your name?”

 

“Montparnasse. You do not need to tell me yours, little bird, I am sure we shall meet again. I would hope you keep my hands in tact. I think you’ll find they can be quite useful.”

 

Grantaire chuckled, seeing Jehan practically squirm at the connotation.

 

“And do not get the wrong idea of me.” Montparnasse continued. “I am usually much more eager to fight back. However the night is cool and your face is agreeable. Therefore I am too.”

 

Jehan was blushing again, but no deliberately. He joined Grantaire at his side and they quickly made their way out of the marketplace.

 

“That was… I did not know you could flirt, Jehan.”

 

“Shut up.” Jehan said with his head bowed low. “It was merely a tactic.”

 

“Sure, sure… A tactic.” Grantaire said mockingly. “A tactic usually used to get within another’s bed.”

 

Jehan gave him an embarrassed shove as Grantaire laughed openly into the night. They had made an unexpected ally tonight, but their work was not yet done. Without the village behind them a few travelling thieves would mean naught. 

 

Over the hill at the edge of the village stood a small house, dilapidated and old. As Jehan and Grantaire approached their faces grew more serious, and they looked at each other apprehensively before knocking on Lamarque's door.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY so wow you guys are so patient and had to wait so long for this chapter. I am so so sorry. In the last three months Caitlin has started university (Congratulations Caitlin!) and was preoccupied moving/adjusting/settling. 
> 
> I myself started a new job and also was caught up in moving. So between the two of us nothing really got done as we were too exhausted to really work on anything. But thank you so much for being so lovely and patient and kind <3
> 
> Closing notes:  
> Bahorel: "I'm a messy bitch who loves drama. I love scamming and lying. Just fuck me up"
> 
> -Athena

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to us on tumblr! 
> 
> I am here at vivalamusaine.tumblr.com
> 
> Caitlin is sunnyjolras.tumblr.com


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